The Legend of Matthew Hyde
by Ash9
Summary: Matthew Hyde is a twenty-two year old American living an ordinary life-until two strange men show up on his college campus bearing swords and wearing Kevlar. They seem convinced he's some one else, and Matthew isn't going to argue when they keep saving his life. For some reason, dangerous creatures seem drawn to him and he begins having the strangest dreams... status: Complete
1. Prologue

_"This is the way the world ends_

_This is the way the world ends_

_This is the way the world ends_

_Not with a bang but a whimper."_

-T.S. Eliot, The Hollow Men

* * *

**subject: Verona Hyde, age 48**

**date: December 21**

**time: 10:46 a.m.**

_-begin taped interview-_

_*sound of chair scraping against the floor*_

"So I just speak into this microphone?"

_*mumble of someone in the background*_

"Oh. , I saw the report last night. It's hard to believe it's still considered newsworthy; it all happened so long ago. That little boy from the coffee shop has grown up quite a bit. It's nice that he still remembers Matthew, that everyone does, even though...

"Is this water for me? Thank you..."

_*glass set down on metal table*_

"It's hard to know where to start, honestly. When I hear all the things they're saying about Matthew, it seems like they must be talking about somebody else. Half of them say he was a miracle-worker and the other half say he was a minion of the devil bringing up demons from hell.

"Well. If that's the Matthew you want to hear about, I don't have much to say. He was neither of those things. He was just a lonely boy trying to figure out who he was and where he belonged."

"You've probably seen that photo we were given of Matthew, back when we were first considering adopting a child. The whole process felt a bit like shopping. I didn't like that part. But we couldn't have our own and we wanted to help a child, regardless of what they looked like. And something about Matthew just drew us in."

"The other kids in the photos were smiling. But not him. He was so tiny, skin and bones, and with those haunted blue eyes that looked like they expected nothing but sadness out of the world. I couldn't get him out of my mind, even days later. When I told Jim, my husband, about it, he agreed that we should meet Matthew. Even then we both thought there must be a reason I was drawn to him."

_*tissue being pulled from a box*_

"Thank you. Well, that was all it took. We met with the child liaison, then the orphanage director. She was the one who suggested we first see Matthew interacting with a room of children during their day school. It makes me angry to think about it. She knew what we would see.

"We were shown to a discreet side room just before the children were let out for a free period. It was easy to spot Matthew trailing out after the others. He wandered over to the back wall and stood there as if he'd found his place, while the other kids were all busy with puzzles or games. If any of the children got too close, Matthew would shuffle his feet nervously and shy away. He looked miserable-tiny and silent and miserable.

"The amazing thing was that as soon as we stepped into the room, his eyes found us, even amidst all that chaos and noise. His little face was desperate, but as we got closer, hope seemed to crowd out every other emotion.

"I stopped about five feet away. I was worried that I would frighten him if I tried to get closer. Jim stayed farther back. Matthew didn't speak; I knew better than to expect him to try. Slowly, I moved closer and opened my arms. That was all he needed. He jumped at me and threw his arms around my neck, sobbing softly. He was so light, so tiny, that I hardly felt anything but that strong grip. I whispered to him that everything was all right now. And I meant it. Nothing was going to take him away from me. Nothing. He nodded but didn't say a word.

_*sniffing*_

"When I turned around, Jim was choking back tears. He hugged us both and said, 'I think we've just been adopted.' Matthew looked at him with a soft sort of awe in his eyes and his tears stopped. Then that first, soft smile brightened his face and it was all over. There was no way we were going to give him up. We loved him at first sight and he loved us right back. I don't think it's always that easy when you adopt an older child.

"I'll always regret that we didn't get there sooner. Poor Matthew had been through something traumatic long before we reached him. They told us a lot of families had considered him but his disability turned them off. I don't know why.

"Looking into those big, blue eyes, I understood instantly that he could communicate fine; he just couldn't speak."

_-end taped segment-_


	2. Epiphany

_This story was written for **Paperlegends 2013!**_

_Thanks to the_muppet who put up with my early incompetence and let me finish and post my story. Thank you, darling, for all you do and have done. Thanks to my wonderful daughter, Alice for betaing for me. And the fabulous aaweth_edain for helping me stay calm while she multi-tasked like a boss and illustrated my story as well as numerous others. May she get all the sleep she deserves!_

_Disclaimer: Don't own this wonderful world or these characters, just borrowing them and making slight adjustments. No harm intended. :)_

* * *

Arthur woke to a world of white blankness.

At first, he wasn't sure why this surprised him. But softly, slowly, images drifted into his mind: pale, muted memories of things that should have been horrifying, but were leeched of any true impact as though they had been packed in wool in his mind. There was a battle-white lightning and bodies flying, a sorcerer on a cliff. And there was something, something important about that sorceror.

_Merlin._

The name sent a frisson of emotion through him-fear, longing, grief, gratitude-so strong that it took his breath. The final scenes of his life played before his eyes, the journey and the pain that had exhausted him and the worry for Merlin that had eventually dominated his thoughts. It had taken dying to bring him to a true understanding of Merlin's worth and devotion, and with that understanding had come horrible knowledge-that after years of saving Arthur from nearly every type of threat and danger, Merlin was going to fail. And when he did, it was going to devastate him body and soul.

Arthur had seen, brilliant in the man's eyes, a desperation to accompany his king even into the shadow lands, something he would not be allowed to do.

Or would he?

Arthur sat up with a lurch, eyes searching the area keenly. Mist surrounded him, a whiteness clinging to the ground, hanging in the air, blocking out everything except a beautiful ceiling of blue sky overhead. It was quiet; the air was calm and peaceful in a way that was completely foreign to Arthur. How long had he been here?

"Merlin?"

After several, louder tries garnered no response, Arthur felt confused relief, which annoyed him. If this was death, then it was nothing but evil to wish Merlin here with him.

Arthur swung his legs over the edge of the...invisible...bed he had been lying on. He stood and, for a few seconds, glared at the nonexistent thing, feeling his jaw tighten.  
Was this magic nonsense really necessary?

"Hello?" he called out. "I'm awake. Can someone please explain where in the bloody hell I am?"

"Arthur!"

Arthur frowned. _That sounded like..._

Then there was the soft sound of footsteps and a small, familiar figure appeared in the mists, someone with dark skin, curly hair and smiling brown eyes-his beloved wife. "Such language! Is that any way for a king to be-"

Arthur swept her up in his arms before she could finish chastising him, his heart full of sudden joy and pain at the same time. He pulled her small body up to his and buried his face in her shoulder, shuddering with emotion. "I'm sorry I had to leave you."

Gwen's small hands patted and soothed him. "I know, Arthur, I know. I know everything now. This is Avalon and we've all had time to talk and to figure out our part in your story while we were waiting for you to awake. And now, here you are."

As she shifted, Arthur reluctantly let her slide down from her arms. She looked up at him with a sweet but slightly distant air, as though their passion were nothing but a fond memory now. It was not so for him. Arthur frowned, a question trying to form in his mind.

Before he could voice it, another voice called out from the mists. "Your majesty, you've awakened!"

An impossibly tall, thin figure in chain mail was striding toward them.

"Sir Leon?"

"Sire! You have no idea how good it is to see you." Leon crossed the final distance in seconds and gripped Arthur's arms warmly in his hands.

Arthur clapped a hand on Leon's shoulder, feeling a grin split his face and a new steadiness in his limbs. "The feeling is mutual, Leon. How have you been?" Arthur's gaze slipped to Gwen as she shifted and a his joy began to fade. His wife had slipped her hands around Leon's arm, turning the two of them into a couple as they faced their king. Arthur could not force his eyes away from that casual but intimate touch.

Leon shifted uncomfortably. "Sire, I hope that-I hope that you understand..."

Arthur forced a smile. "The two of you married. Of course. I would have suggested that to you, Gwen, had I had time. I'm glad you were not...lonely."

Gwen gave him a sad smile. "I remained alone for eight years and had thought to stay always so, but Sir Leon had different ideas."

Leon's face had grown pale, and he swallowed. "I never sought to replace you, sire. I only sought to make her smile again, to shoulder a small amount of the load she bore in being Queen."

Arthur brushed off his worries with an impatient gesture. Although the idea had taken him by surprise, he knew it to be something he could understand and, in time, possibly grow to appreciate. But for now, he needed to change the topic.

"If you are both here, then I assume you have both...died." It felt slightly impolite to ask, but neither of them seemed disturbed as they gave their assent.

"And so...where is Merlin?"

Gwen's face fell and Leon's eyes clouded over with emotion. They glanced at each other before turning to Arthur.

Gwen reached out to touch Arthur's arm. "He's not here. The rest of us have passed on and been brought to Avalon. But not Merlin. He's still alive, still waiting. He's..." Tears flooded her eyes and she turned to Leon, shaking her head. He put an arm around her before attempting to explain.

"He gone somewhere that we can't see, sire. We used to be able to watch over him, to try to influence things in some small way, but not since the last..." Leon trailed off exactly as Gwen had, irritating Arthur to no end. Could no one finish a sentence in this cursed place? "He's changed, over time. He's gotten worn out, living so long, waiting, and...he sort of...went funny in the head."

Gwen huffed out an irritated breath at Leon. This was obviously an argument they'd had before. "Stop saying that. He's going to be fine. He just...everyone kept on and on at him, Arthur, and once he got started, he couldn't stop trying to explain about you and him and Camelot. They thought he was..."

Leon took up the story when she trailed off. "They always do. In the past, he could just move on. But for the last few hundred years, they put people like him in homes and try to help them."

Somewhere in the middle of Arthur's growing feeling of panic, a bloom of true dread grew. "Few...hundred years?" Arthur was sure he'd misheard Leon. "How long has it been?" The two of them gave him a twin look of caution that left him breathless. "How long?"

"It's been over a thousand years, Arthur. Closer to fifteen hundred, actually."

Arthur felt his blood run cold. His mind fragmented. Did he still have blood then, here, in death? He must, because he could feel it now, his heart pounding like a runaway stallion.

"You said Merlin was still...living?"

They nodded reluctantly. Arthur's vision tunneled until there was nothing but white and two people far, far away. His mind was with Merlin, who, despite all his many kindnesses, his self-sacrifices and his willingness to take on Destiny's mantle of pain, had apparently been rewarded with nothing but centuries of loneliness and near insanity.

* * *

There were only a few, last faded thuds-dirt landing on the coffin above him-and finally, everything grew still. Smothering darkness and stale air pressed in around him. When he had been young, so very long ago, he might have been afraid. But he knew better now; he was a creature of magic, a being made from sea, sky and _earth_: being buried alive held no fear for him.

Slowly, the sound of his breathing filled the coffin. He flinched and began to move his arms and legs, feeling the slide of the soft, cool lining of taffeta surrounding him. He hadn't dared to see what color it was before, but now he opened his eyes, lifted a hand stiff from disuse and called his latent magic forth. The glow illuminated the fabric lining the long box around him, a deep shade of blue. He shuddered out a sigh.

Moira's choice, obviously. She'd always loved the blue of his eyes, despite the agedness that laid waste to his body when magical apathy outweighed his common sense. He could have de-aged himself, but...why? There was no more hope of happiness for himself, none beyond the unreachable, unattainable...the impossible.

But Moira had never given up on him, had nursed him in the home until the energy of her caring caused him to start caring to again, to feel the need to ease her worry and explain why her efforts were in vain. He was going to miss her.

_"I was put on this earth forty years too late. You and I should have met as hot-blooded teenagers, Mr. Atwater. With those eyes and that smile and my dancer's legs, we could have lit the town from one end to the other. People would still be talking about the scandal today."_

Her voice faded from his mind. In her own way, she had loved him.

But it doesn't matter. She will die. They always do. Always.

A violent wave of emotion choked his breath. That's what he had found himself telling her, telling _them_, but they wouldn't listen to him...

_"It's true, don't you hear me? He lived and breathed and died and he was nothing like the books said. None of them get it right!"_

_"Mr. Atwater, please, just stay calm. We don't want to have to sedate you-"_

_But once he'd started, he just hadn't been able to stop._

_"Sometimes, it seems like I imagined all of it. When you're the only person to remember-the only person left alive-oh gods, oh please...don't you understand? I'm the only one** left**!" And he had come unglued, awash in memories and grief that he couldn't stop. A bewildering crowd of people had poured into the room, which was always a bad sign._

_Moira's face had twisted in empathy for him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry but we have to get you calmed down before you hurt yourself."_

_"Hurt myself?" he pled with a bitterness so deep that it choked him and any reason left in him. "As if I would care! Do you have any idea how many times I've tried to to kill myself? Do you?" Then maybe, he'd gone a bit mad, because he'd said something along the lines of, "Do any of you want to take a turn?"_

_Moira apologized, over and over, but her voice was overridden by the staff psychiatrist, who was supposed to be off duty at this hour, but who was, instead, watching Merlin's hysteria with clinical detachment._

_"You heard him. That changes everything."_

_There was an instant change in the bodies around him, in the way they moved and scurried._

_Merlin went cold and felt instantly sober. "No, I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to say it. It's just hard. Don't you understand?" he pleaded. And that struck him as funny, asking the psychiatrist that question. He began to laugh in panicky jerks. "Of course you don't understand. No one does. No one knew Arthur but me. No one believes he'll return. Sometimes I don't even believe-"_

_"Hold him."_

_As they gathered around him, Merlin's voice rose to a shriek. "No! I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. Ow! I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said...it."_

_"It's okay, Mr. Atwater. Please, just sleep."_

_"Moira, Moira...it's so hard to remember and if I don't talk about it...he disappears. And I...I hate...that...worse than...worse'n...'nything."_

_"It's okay, Mr. Atwater. It's going to be okay. I promise," she whispered._

He heard her soothing voice in his head even now, heard how she had grieved over his lifeless body at the funeral. Merlin wasn't actually dead, of course. Thanks to his almighty, bloody power, he'd found a way to fake even that.

This was the fourth time he'd been buried, the fourth time he'd awoken and found that despite his wishing and praying and begging and hoping that this time it would take, he was still here.

"Why?" he inevitably asked himself.

"Because he will return," he unceasingly answered, "and I must be here for him. He should not be alone. No one should be alone."

_Not even me._

Sobs bubbled up in his chest, coming from wherever he had banished them. He breathed in gasps and hitches, crying out to whoever was listening.

"I can't do it. I can't do this anymore. Let me die. Let me sleep. I'm so tired."

He heard his own mind trying to feed him wisdom and reassurances as it always did, something from the vast store of knowledge and experience he'd had, but he couldn't focus on anything but the pain in his chest and the endless tears choking him.

"Why can't I die? Why-can't-I?" He slammed his fists against the coffin until fury gilded his eyes gold. His mind seized the moment to pull a clear vision of Arthur's face as he had thanked Merlin, his hand tangled in Merlin's hair, his eyes lit up with waning emotion, just before he had gone limp and gently slipped away from this world.

To one who could never taste its oblivion, that moment when everything fades and the burdens of life, even life itself, cease, seemed all the more beautiful and desirable. Merlin had seen it in so many forms, in so many that he loved: Freya, Will, Lancelot, Gwaine, Gaius, Gwen, Percival, little Arthur...

On and on the memories came until the pain of it scalded, scorched its way out of his chest, bringing his magic to a raging crescendo that burst out in a primal scream. He was too far gone to hold back and the scream first shattered his throat, then his mind and everything material around him.

There was no Merlin now, nothing left but a body that did not cease its unending living, no matter the state of the soul within...

The hillside cemetery where Mr. Scott Atwater had been buried hours ago showed no sign of the cataclysmic event that had just happened under the surface. Workers continued to bundle away the equipment and store it for the next funeral. Even the most dedicated mourners like Moira had turned away and only a soft wind stirred the plot where the most powerful  
sorcerer to ever walk the earth lay buried.

There was no sign that the earth itself was pooling its own magic, mourning with its child as he lay insensate, driven mad with grief. The tendrils of magic began to weave themselves around the long, lanky figure, staving off the dripping dirt and shredded wood of his casket, cleaning away the blood and signs of misery, soothing aches and restoring health. But even as the magic caressed him, it felt Emrys pulling away in his mind, far away.

He was broken, beyond reason, beyond sense.

The magic mourned with him. It should not have happened this way. Arthur was supposed to have returned by now. Something had kept him, some deeper purpose. Something was keeping him still.

_So. Something must be done_.

The magic soothed Emrys, cradled him and with a desperate lurch and a keening call of mother to child reached inside his mind, inside his body...and unmade him.

Not completely-not from the end to the beginning-no. The world needed him too desperately. But he could not exist as he was and for that reason, the magic made him exist as he had been. She shrunk him, reduced him, rewinded him until the clear, deep blue eyes had been set in a small, pale face that could almost be called pudgy with baby fat.

All that had plagued him was forgotten. Merlin sighed, curled into a chubby little ball and snuffled noisily as he fell back asleep. Magic wept. He must go somewhere else, somewhere where his centuries of memory couldn't find him.

The magic shuddered at the thought, but acted in faith. She blessed Emrys on the dark crown of his hair and pushed him deep into the earth, still sleeping. Her tendrils reached out, moving him along through soil and water, protecting him until he was out of her reach. Then the Old Ones of the sea, as much a part of him as the Old Ones of the earth, took him through the water and transported him farther.

Until he was out of their reach, too.

_Let him find love_, she wished._ Let him find a home. Let him be...happy._

Empty and bereft, she felt outwards, trying to find where he had gone. But wherever Emrys was, he was now too far for her to follow. Her next task would be to wake the one person who could truly help him, but not yet. Not quite yet.


	3. Besieged

"Arthur?"

Gwen was watching his face carefully. Arthur's jaw tightened and his eyes prickled with heat. He brushed past them and paced into the white vapor. Once he had gathered himself, he turned back to them.

"So let me see if I understand this clearly: the most powerful sorcerer ever to walk the earth gives up everything to become my servant, to protect me until Camelot can get  
headed in the right direction. Because of his secrecy and my...arrogance he is neglected, unappreciated, as well as in danger every hour of every day because of his birthright of magic. For his faithfulness and care, his service and selflessness, he is rewarded with being forced to stand by and watch me die, then spend fifteen hundred...fifteen hundred years waiting for me to return. Is that right?" When they nodded, Arthur turned away, a trembling hand pressed to his mouth. It was an outrage, so unjust and impossibly unfair that his sense of duty and justice demanded action. "Then I must return."

"There are others who wish to see you, Arthur," said a new voice behind him.

Arthur frowned and turned to see a beautiful, dark-haired lady with liquid brown eyes walking toward him. To Arthur's surprise, Gwen and Leon bowed their heads to her. "I am Freya, the Lady of the Lake. You have been under my protection while you were here, and if you leave, you leave that protection behind. Out there, you will be only a mortal again, subject to the same laws and forces of nature as you were when you were alive. Only this time, you will not have Merlin at your side."

Something about her impressed itself on him, her bearing or her manner, instantly changing his approach. "Thank you, my lady. But regardless of the danger, I need to find  
him. Can you help me?"

Her eyes held deep pain and regret. "He would not wish me to send you, Arthur. I know it with every fiber of my being. He has always held your safety far above his own. But I cannot hold you back when I know that you may be the only one who can save him. He is in great danger, Arthur, oceans away, so much farther than the Old Religion can reach. And he has been there long enough for his magic to begin to affect the land, to awaken and draw out those things that would hunt him for his magic. I can feel their hunger and...I cannot feel Merlin. He is lost to me there, and I fear he may still be lost to himself."

Arthur clenched a hand, wishing for a sword to put in it. "Can you send me to him?"

"I think so, but I dare not send you alone. There is another who would go with you. In fact, I hardly think I can keep him back. He believes he has a debt to repay."

Hearing footsteps, Arthur focused on the swirling mists and watched in disbelief at the familiar figure that approached. "Gwaine?"

The man walked towards him, eyes crinkled up with a familiar smile. "Who else?"

Arthur reached out and clapped the man on the shoulder, a rush of emotion overcoming him. Gwaine gripped his arms with fierce strength. "It's good to see you, Sire."

"And you as well." The joy leached out of their faces as Arthur continued. "They've told me that Merlin has been out there all this time, waiting." He saw the pain of acknowledgment in Gwaine's eyes. "I intend to find him and do whatever I can. I don't know what we will face or in what manner of trouble Merlin will be in, only that he will be, given his nature." They shared a small smile. "Will you come?"

Gwaine's eyes darkened. "You know the answer to that. It's been fifteen hundred years of hell having to wait and watch. Only you or that Freya lady can open the gates and she hasn't budged." And Arthur thought, watching the man twitch and glance away with emotion-filled eyes, it probably had been punishing for him.

"I understand, But what debt do you feel you have to repay?"

Gwaine stood up straight and looked Arthur in the eyes. "Morgana caught me, using that damn magic of hers, and tortured me to death with a nathir. Some time before I died, I gave up the secret that Merlin was taking you to Avalon to heal you. I was weak. She came after both of you and slowed you down, probably just long enough for Merlin to fail."

Arthur grimaced and shook his head. "No, Gwaine, bad timing wasn't responsible for my death. It was meant to be."

Gwaine scoffed and brushed at his eyes. "Try telling that to Merlin."

Arthur put a comforting hand on Gwaine's shoulder. "I intend to, as soon as I can find the way out of this damn mist."

* * *

"Matt!"

The voice penetrated his thoughts, but did little break his concentration. Matthew was seated on the hard stone bench outside UEF's chapel building, enjoying the Florida sunshine while simultaneously brushing up on his Latin, trying to ignore his friends for the five minutes more it would take to cram this into his head.

_"Matthew Hyde."_

He frowned and focused harder on the next paragraph of the textbook. Dr. Abbott was one of the most notoriously difficult professors at the University of East Florida and if you didn't keep up with your reading, he would roast you alive. Slowly. In front of the whole class.

On the grass nearby, Cricket sighed, watching her boyfriend stare intently at his Latin text. He was adorable, all folded up and scholarly-like. One leg was hiked up and bent at the knee, his torso shifted to the side so that one elbow could take advantage of the low ledge nearby. The rest of his lanky body rested gracefully in-between the bench and the the ledge. There was a smudge of ink on his cheek, and she was dying to go and wipe it off just to see his embarrassed grin. He might even laugh in that husky way of his...

A large, blur of a body hit the grass beside her and she jumped. It was just Garrett, snatching at a frisbee just before it hit the ground. Yes, it had been a stellar catch, but he had startled her, so she smacked him as he rolled over and jumped to his feet.

"So jealous," he taunted before flicking his wrist and sending the disc soaring over the grass to Todd. Garrett watched idly as the bigger boy made a gravity-defying leap and caught it. "This is getting boring. Tell spaz over there he has one minute and then we're bailing." His brown gaze gave Cricket a pointed look before spying the disc floating back his way. "Got it..." He took off, staying under the disc as it came down, leaping over a small flower bed before snatching it easily and...running smack into a tree.

Off at the top of the hill, Todd collapsed in laughter. "Oh my god. That tree? Totally powned you."

Cricket gasped and stood. "Garrett, are you all right?" Garrett waved one hand, the other busy holding his nose onto his face. "Are you bleeding?" He waved again, his fingers red this time. "Oh crap. Matt?" Cricket strode over to the cement porch area where he had chosen to spent the last hours of their Saturday. "Garrett just like, impaled himself on a tree." She stood in front of Matthew, watching as he held up a hand like a policeman directing traffic. "No, I will not wait a minute. He's bleeding and may need to go get his nose sewn back on! I'm no good in a crisis and Todd is an idiot and we need you."

Matthew blinked up at her, his ocean blue eyes narrowed in frustration.

"Don't give me that look. There is _blood_ on his _face_ and you know how that makes me get sick."

He growled at her quietly, but began stacking his books.

"And it's time to stop studying anyway. You're such a professor sometimes! You're going to be the first old man freshman in history if you keep going at this rate."

"I'm up! I'm up!" Garrett called over to them thickly. He was on his feet, swaying slightly and holding a bloody hand to his nose.

Todd had stopped laughing long enough to make it over to him. "That was so awesome. Why didn't I catch a vid?"

"Nah. My mom would have freaked if... it'd gone viral." The pause was when Garrett hocked up and spat a mouthful of blood and gunk on the ground.

Cricket tried not to give in to the nausea she was feeling and the struggle must have been evident on her face. Matthew moved to her side and took hold of her arm, leading her to sit on the bench he had just vacated. He knelt in front her and signed the words, _You all right?_

She nodded. "Just help Garrett."

Matthew watched her face for signs of further discomfort or trauma, but saw none. He gestured for her to stay, knowing that she could read his signs better than anybody. Then he turned and jogged over to Garrett and Todd. Todd had already managed to get Garrett's hands away from his nose, which was bloody and misshapen.

Matthew shook his head and made an impatient noise as he got into position to feel Garrett's nose.

"What?" Garrett asked defensively as he lifted his nose up for Matthew to look at it. "It was an awesome catch. Truly."

"And then-_tree!"_ Todd laughed, his face blooming with red until his freckles nearly disappeared. "Is it broken?"

Matthew felt the nose give under his hand and nodded his head.

"Can't feel a thing," Garrett said in wonder. "Do I have to go to the campus doc?"

Matthew nodded and put up a hand, indicating himself and then signaled for them  
to wait.

"Nah. 'll take him," Todd offered, "no problem. You and Crick can hang out and smooch for a while. No, really," he insisted as Matthew grew agitated, "I got this. Just walk this way, idjit," he told Garrett. Matthew watched with frustration as Todd took Garrett's arm and led him to the sidewalk. "And try not to hit any more trees with your face."

"Everything okay?" Cricket asked from where she sat, pale and woozy-looking.

_It's broken,_ he signed with his hands._ Todd is taking him to the doc._ He sat down beside Cricket and felt her lean against him. It was beyond irritating to be treated like an invalid when something like this happened. But he had to admit that taking someone to the doctor and explaining what happened was not something at which he excelled, unless someone else there knew sign language or they were patient enough to read what he wrote out laboriously. He was faster at texting, as so few people knew sign language. His friends were aware of this. Beside him, Cricket sighed.

"Can you be done with Latin now?" she asked in a small voice.

Before Matthew could answer, something stopped him.

The air around him had just...shifted in an undefinable way. He glanced around, seeing exactly what he expected to see: twilight dawning over the grounds in the southeastern quad. The campus was thick with oak trees but empty of students by the chapel, which was exactly why Matt had elected to study here. It was eerie, but quiet. Most dead weekends were like this; there were no student events planned and most students were inside studying and gearing up for finals.

Crickett stiffened. She felt it, too, the feeling that something or someone was watching them. The way Matt was scanning the trees and nervously gripping the bench was only making it worse. Not for the first time, she wished her boyfriend would speak and make this horrible, unnatural silence go away. But in all the time she'd known him, he had yet to speak a single word.

"What is it, Matt?" Cricket snapped, creeping fear making her tone sharp. She was watching him the exact moment that his deep blue eyes flew wide open. "Matt?" There was naked fear was on his face. She followed his gaze and grew absolutely still.

Something was moving toward them in the half-light between the trees, a hulkish figure with hideously long arms. Hidden by shadows, it loped down the path, the gleam of its eyes fixed right on them.

"What is it?" she hissed, clutching Matt's arm as her heart begin to pound. Matt shook his head slowly and stood, pulling her to her feet. "What is that?" Still, Matt was silent.

As it moved from shadow to light, they could see it better, though Cricket regretted that immediately. The thing was like a man, but huge, furry and with gorilla-like arms. It walked upright, with a long, swinging gait that made its knuckles brush the ground. Its face was gray and wrinkled with round eyes black as pitch and bright as diamonds. When it opened its mouth in a horrifying grimace, teeth as long and sharp as needles slid out.

Cricket couldn't even scream.

Matthew stared as it came closer, and it took him less time than he would have expected for him to accept the fact that yes, there are monsters alive and running around the U.S.A. on college campuses and yes, one of them just happens to be fixated on him and his girlfriend at this very moment. He swept Cricket behind him, signing call security as some desperate, undefinable feeling swelled inside and broke loose.

With an inarticulate cry as loud as any sound he'd ever made, he ran madly forward and took a stand, his right hand outstretched and foreign words on the tip of his tongue. Then he froze.

_What the hell am I doing?_

Behind him, Cricket was screaming and the creature came at him impossibly fast, swinging a massive arm. Pain erupted along the side of Matthew's head and he was in the air and then on the ground, pain reverberating through his bones.

He could hear Cricket sobbing and shrieking for the creature to leave her alone. He had never felt so helpless in his life as he worked to force himself up in a sitting position and waited for the world to stop spinning. Finally, he could focus his eyes, just in time to see the creature roaring at Cricket. She collapsed behind the bench and went silent, her eyes wide and her whole body trembling.

Matthew couldn't get to his feet, could barely think through the ringing in his head. His hands swept the ground around him until he came up with a sizeable rock and flung it with all the desperate hate swamping his heart. It went farther than he expected, hitting the creature's back with a rewarding thunk. Those strange obsidian eyes fixated back on Matthew immediately. It started stalking toward him.

As death moved closer, time seemed to slow to Matthew. There was something wet on his face-probably blood. Probably his. His mind rifled through all the monsters he'd ever heard of, the urban legends that had occupied his mind through his teenage years, and settled on one. Not hairy enough to be a werewolf, but definitely a predator. Possibly a wendigo, which meant that this thing was hungry, always hungry. But in all that he'd read, nothing had prepared Matthew for what it felt like to be frozen as those eyes bored into his own, watching it creep closer, its grin growing wider and wider.

Too late, Matthew realized that he was actually paralyzed-those eyes had hypnotized him somehow. Helpless, he watched the creature sidle close enough to lean in and sniff at his hair, run its foul tongue into his ear and nuzzle his neck like an affectionate cat. It had too many fingers on its furred hands, with claws that caught and sliced Matthew's skin. The smell of its hideous hide made him gag, and Matthew was coughing on its fumes when he suddenly found himself lifted and thrown over the shoulder of the beast. Breath was driven from his body and its stench filled his senses. For a moment, he blacked out.

The next thing he knew, he was swinging limply from side to side as the thing took him down a path. They were in the woods, hopefully still near the campus. Maybe it was the blow to his head, but Matthew couldn't feel much of anything, not even the fear he knew should be thrumming in his veins. For some reason, he was wide awake now, his senses creeping up to high alert.

Other than the footsteps of the beast rustling through dead leaves, all was quiet, as if the whole world was waiting, breathlessly, for something to happen. There was another shift in the air around him. Then came a voice, commanding and deep.

_"Put. Him._ **_Down."_**

A tremor of shock ran down Matthew's spine. _That voice..._

"What the bloody hell is that?" came another voice. They both sounded British, the first more cultured than the second.

"No idea. Split up. You..." and the instructions trailed off into silence.

Matthew tried to turn, to pull himself up and see who had spoken but the creature did not like that. It roared and punched Matthew in the ribs with enough force to make him go limp again. The sharp, new pain in his side made breathing a challenge, especially as the beast swung him from side to side when his attackers moved in on either side of him.

"That's right, this way, you hellish beast," said the second voice. "Put down the nice warlock and have a go at me. You know you want to; everyone wants a piece of me. But you? Too bad you've got one of the ugliest-"

The creature lunged and Matthew flopped helplessly as it turned to swipe at the man taunting him. But now he could see the other man behind the creature, if he lifted his head just right. Matthew caught a glimpse of blond hair, wide open blue eyes and a bright, shining sword before he was jerked back to the side. The creature roared; it had been struck.

"How's that feel? You like that?" the second man called out, sounding angry.

It roared again and started forward. Then the blond man was beside them, keeping pace, steadying Matthew's shoulder, pressing him aside as he aimed his sword. With a vicious thrust, the man buried his sword deep into the creature's back.

Matthew had just enough time to think, _Wait-_ and then the world was a blur of motion as the creature arched and tried to grab at them. The blond man danced out of the way, calling out a warning as the creature's claws closed on Matthew instead. He found himself lifted bodily, pierced and then flung headlong.

Matthew was upside down and curled into a ball of pain when he took down someone like a bowling pin. They cushioned his body with their own, but his head and neck still slammed into the ground and the world went white.

"Merlin?"

When the world faded back in, someone was complaining loudly. "I almost ran him through like a spitted boar."

"He's waking."

Then someone was cursing and trying to keep Matthew from rising off the ground. Everything was blurry. There was a man over him with long brown hair, a scruffy beard and a rakish grin. "Merlin? There you are." His voice was the second British one, the more common sounding. "Sorry, I didn't catch you better, mate, but that thing was dead set on breaking you in half. You all right?"

Matthew had no way to describe the pain screaming at him from every part of his body right now. He just looked up blankly, then over at the other man who was jerking a bloody sword out of the lifeless creature on the ground. _Yes, a sword._ Matthew blinked.

"Merlin?" The other man called, then bent to wipe his sword on the grass.

The man over him patted his face to get his attention and Matthew knocked his hand away.

"All right, take it easy. I said I was sorry. You've taken harder knocks than that, you know. Just going to check your ribs." He began to lift Matthew's shirt, but was halted by a grip on his hand. Matthew was breathing hard, painfully; he was confused and scared and did not want someone he did not know looking at his ribs. The man looked taken aback. "Merlin, it's me-Gwaine," he said in a husky whisper that broke his smile. "You know I wouldn't hurt you."

Matthew shook his head, then regretted it instantly as the pain flared behind his eyes. He released Gwaine's hand and signed, _My name is Matthew._

"What does that mean...why are you moving your hands like that?"

Matthew grimaced and patted at his pocket for his cell phone. When, instead of finding a pocket, he felt shredded denim, pain and blood, he stopped with a surprised grunt, his trembling fingers held away from his body.

"It's all right, mate. Just keep breathing."

The other man stabbed his sword in the ground and dropped to his knees beside them, causing Matthew to flinch away.

"Easy, Arthur," the one called Gwaine cautioned, "he doesn't know us."

The blond man's eyes went wide, some heavy emotion swimming in them that Matthew couldn't understand. No one had ever looked at him like that. "Merlin?" Arthur said.

Matthew shook his head again, wincing at the pain. _Not Merlin,_ he signed.

"Why is he doing that?" Arthur asked sharply.

"I don't know. It's some sort of hand signal."

Matthew rolled his eyes, then gestured to his mouth and made a curt gesture.

Arthur went pale. "You can't speak?" His eyes searched Matthew's intently. "You can't speak and you don't know us."

Matthew nodded and closed his eyes. Pain was taking over his existence. The worst of it seemed to be on his hips, where the creature's claws had dug in deeply. Matthew groaned as he tentatively felt the area. He heard Gwaine give Arthur a murmured reassurance before turning back to Matthew.

"Sure you don't want me to take a look at it?"

Matthew shook his head. Cricket was getting the police and they should have an  
ambulance here soon. He was already bracing himself for the inevitable ride to the hospital. Accident-prone, his mom called it. Ridiculously-appendaged was what he called it. It had taken him years to finally grow into the long arms and legs he'd had since junior high.

A loud smack pulled his attention. Slowly, Matthew swiveled his head to see Arthur hacking at a nearby tree with a vengeance, slamming his sword into the bark and then ripping it loose with an oath. Merlin's face screwed up in confusion. Nothing was making sense right now.

"Nothing to worry about," Gwaine said with an awkward smile, "There's no other knights around to beat up on and he doesn't use words very well when he's upset. So. The tree. Do you have a healer around here somewhere? 'Cause I'm thinking you're going to be needing one."

_"Matthew?"_

Matthew jerked. It was Cricket, her voice coming from somewhere far off. More voices joined hers.

_"You don't need to be here, ma'am. Stay back."_

_"There's another smear of blood here, sir."_

_"Follow it. Weapons out,"_

As the two campus security guards crept into the clearing, Arthur sauntered up to meet them. There was really no other word for it. There was a smile on his face, but it wasn't a very pleasant one. "Are you the guards for this area? It seems like a little something slipped by you."

"Matthew!" Cricket was at Matthew's side in seconds, blocking his sight of the men, crying hysterically and trying to find places to touch him that didn't hurt too much. He hated not being able to reassure her with words, having to settle for signing it with trembling, bloody hands that just emphasized his injuries.

"My god, what is that thing?" The two security guards had moved closer, their expressions a mix of horror and fascination.

"Whatever it is, it's dead," Gwaine said in his gravelly voice as he picked up his sword and sauntered over to the creature.

"Sir, put the sword down." One of the guards, one with a girth that strained the fabric of his uniform, already his hand at his belt, twitching toward his gun.

"Relax," Gwaine reassured him, "I just have to clean it." He bent down and wiped his blade on the grass as Arthur had done before sliding it home in his scabbard. For the first time,  
Matthew noticed that the two British men were wearing some kind of Kevlar vests and scabbards over their jeans and sneakers. Kevlar and swords?

Arthur was stepping closer to the guards, his body tense and his voice shockingly authoritative. "Your tardiness almost guaranteed the death of this student. If you were my men, I'd have you flogged."

The skinny one took offense at this and his mustache bristled. "Excuse me? And who the hell are you?"

"My name is Arthur and I'm his..._servant._"

Despite the pain, Matthew's head jerked up. _Servant?_ A shudder ran through his whole body, though he couldn't say why.

"What is he talking about?" Cricket asked in a whisper, wiping away the last of her tears.  
Matthew made the sign for crazy. Cricket took his hands in her own. "The ambulance should be here any second. Just rest, Matt."

With those words excusing him, the world began to blur and Matthew let himself close his eyes. There was far too much that didn't make sense, but he let all of that go and fell into blackness.

* * *

Matthew woke in the hospital, as expected, to the sound of distant voices, wheeled buggies going by and beeping. What he didn't expect was the disorienting jumble of images in his mind that blocked out the white room and the machines hooked to him. Clutching at his head, squeezing his eyes shut, Matthew was forced to watch a parade of people he had never met, of places he had never seen, of conversations in another language and at another time. He felt like Alice in the rabbit hole watching odd relics of another life float by as he fell, but each of these images hurt somewhere deep in his soul.

Matthew tried hard to ground himself in the here and now, in the feel of the bedsheets against him, the muted pain from his injuries and the cold, crisp air of the hospital room. But his mind was falling away again, so far that he had no awareness besides this dream...

He was racing through a castle, the kind he'd read about but never visited, never even wanted to. There were the distant sounds of fighting-screams, clashes of weapons and shuddering thuds that shook the stone beneath his feet. He hated those sounds.

"Arthur, please tell me you're returning now-_please,"_ he muttered as he turned a corner and took the stone steps three at a time. The posted guards held out their weapons, but relaxed when they recognized his face.

"Hurry, Merlin!" one of them said and the desperation in his tone shocked him to the core. Merlin rushed inside and then froze in horror.

Gwen was on her knees, holding the still form of her daughter, little Hildie, and rocking back and forth, sobbing wretchedly. Merlin's quick gaze, working even when he had no desire to learn more, took in Leon kneeling by the bed at the other side of the room, one hand on the still, pale figure of 10-year-old Eddis. _No._ The boy was slack as if in sleep, but the gray cast to his features told a different story.

"Uncle Merlin!" came a cry behind him and he turned with a gasp to see a small figure hurl itself at him. With more relief than should have been possible, Merlin gathered up little Arthur in his arms and tucked the feverish face against his neck.

"What-what-_no..._" Merlin found himself completely incoherent.

"Merlin?" Gwen lifted one hand toward him listlessly, the other cradled around Hildie. "They're gone, both of them. We think it's poison, but we don't know how...or why...it makes no sense when the entire city is to be overrun in moments. _Why?"_

Merlin tensed. "Where is Ogilvy?" The healer was unfailingly dependable. "When did this happen?"

"Ogilvy is dead, poisoned as well. They were very thorough, Merlin," Gwen said, clutching at her stomach. Merlin stared at her hand, then forced his gaze to her eyes, where he saw in them a dreadful knowledge and an even more dreadful decision. "No," he said forcefully, kneeling to put Arthur down, but the boy's arms just cinched tighter around his neck.

Leon answered from where he stood at the window, gazing down at the soldiers defending the city without him. "It's too late for us, Merlin. Our knights are not strong enough, not by a long shot. If Arthur could see them..." His voice wavered before steadying again. "Sir Gideon's training has wasted them and they are going to be slaughtered."

"Why are you giving up? I can defeat the Saxons, I've done it before."

Gwen looked up at him sadly. "At great cost to yourself, Merlin, and I won't be here to nurse you back to health this time." She lifted a hand as he moved toward her, pulling little Arthur with him. "No. No, Merlin. I know you can heal me, but again, it will take too much and the city will fall anyway, and without my little ones...without them..." she cut off and sank to the ground, sobbing again.

Leon pulled himself away from the view, rousing himself enough to stumble over to her. The limp in his right leg was even more pronounced tonight, the old war injury that made the knight unfit for hard training and fighting. It had been the one of the greatest hardships in his life, but paled in comparison to the events of this night. Tears were falling down his face steadily, though he made not a sound as he wrapped his wife and dead daughter in an embrace.

Merlin's heart clenched painfully and he shook his head in denial. "Leon, you cannot agree with this. I can save Gwen! And I can save Camelot!" He turned to little Arthur and once again tried to disentangle himself.

"No!" Arthur yelled fiercely, clinging like a little monkey.

Leon raised weary eyes to Merlin. "She is right, Merlin. The time for saving has past. There is no more Camelot. We are betrayed within and harried without. You cannot save Gwen, the boy and the castle."

"Let me at least try!" He drew in a strangled breath. "I _cannot_ watch you both die. You're asking too much!"

"We do not ask you to watch," Gwen said, opening tired eyes and reached a hand out to Merlin, who shifted and moved forward to take it, bowing and touching his forehead to it. Hot tears fell on her hand, but she pretended not to notice. "You will take the prin-you will take little Arthur and escape." Merlin looked up into her eyes, horrified, shaking his head but there was steel in her glance. "Merlin, this is the command of your queen. You will take Arthur and go live among the Druids for as long as it is safe. You will raise Arthur as we would have wished to, without the blessings and curses of being a prince, and you will be his father and guardian. I cannot imagine a better choice for my son. Please," she added in a pained and weakening voice, "you are our only hope now."

Merlin took in the faint sheen of sweat and pain on Leon's clenched brow and the heavy breathing of the queen. Both poisoned, then. But maybe it wasn't too late-

There was the clash of swords in the hallway, and Merlin jumped to his feet. Automatically, he shifted little Arthur's body to his back and stepped in front of the queen and her king consort. Anger flooded his veins.

A thud against the wall and a scream of pain came just before footsteps rang out in the doorway. Sir Lionel stood there, looking shocked to see Merlin. He recovered quickly, raising his bloody sword.

"Slight miscalculation. I was sure you would be busy on the walls at the present moment."

Merlin's upper lip curled and his gaze narrowed. Slowly, his right hand came up. Arthur, who had been looking over his shoulder, gasped and ducked his head into the back of Merlin's neck. "You did this?" Merlin asked in a deadly voice. "You betrayed your queen?"

Lionel was by no means an old man. His hair was still brown and curled, his eyesight sharp and keen and his shoulders heavy with muscle and self-importance. Apparently, he thought himself worthy of the crown. But at the sight of Merlin's well-deserved hate, he sagged like a man on the edge of death. Which was quite appropriate.

His gaze darted around the room as if seeking some shield that would protect him from a warlock's wrath. "She was a weak queen, not of royal blood," he finally spat. "The bloodline of Uther is no more! It died with Arthur. They don't deserve the throne!"

Merlin felt his power surging, circling, wanting to burn this man alive, pull him apart and drag him through the streets, burn him alive on a pyre, eviscerate him. He held back, shuddering and only Arthur's whimpers of terror kept him from fulfilling every one of those fantasies. Instead, he stalked forward, his gaze burning into Lionel's. With a shaking hand, he pressed Arthur's head down against his shoulder and whispered soothing words and then, "Don't watch."

Arthur shuddered, but kept his head down and obeyed.

Then Merlin held out his hand and pronounced judgment on the man even as the coward begged for mercy. Merlin's magic filled the man, invaded him, and Lionel's eyes goggled. His mouth opened in a silent scream. Then the magic...jerked.

Sir Lionel's scream lasted only a second and then he was gone, his body vaporized, his spirit released to judgment. Merlin stood there, his arm raised, his eyes blinded gold, vibrating until it was over.

Then he turned back to Gwen, Hildie and Leon, lifted them with his magic and laid them on the bed, on either side of little Eddis. Gwen was suffering, so Merlin went to her side quickly.

"I am so sorry," he picked up her limp hand, tears stinging his eyes. "I failed you."

"No, Merlin, you have saved me over and over again, as you did Arthur. And you would do it again, if I let you. But my time is over, and you must use your gifts for someone else, for some...other place. You are the truest friend I have ever had and I'm so sorry to leave you."

Merlin bowed his head and despite himself, let go a few, quiet sobs. Losing his friends one after another was hard. From the other side of the bed, he heard Leon's quiet _thank you_ and gave the man a nod in return. From his back, little Arthur began calling for his mother.

Gwen looked up at her last, living child and smiled gently. "Be brave, little one, like your namesake. I am sorry I will not be there by your side. But you know that I love you and your father does as well. Uncle Merlin will show you that love every day."

Little Arthur finally let go of Merlin and climbed up on the bed. He wailed as he saw Hildie and Eddis, unmoving, and threw himself in his mother's arms. Merlin's tears slowly faded as he took in the boy's wild grief. His gaze met Gwen's, who was beseeching him to do something, and he nodded slowly. WIth a regretful glow of his eyes, he put Arthur to sleep.

Gwen's face twisted, but she did not cry as she held him close one last time. "Explain it to him, when he is older. I adore him so."

Merlin smiled and nodded, unable to commit himself to explaining everything, which might cause the boy unending pain. It might be better to forget. He tried to smile at her. "And when you see _him_...tell him he's a clot pole for not returning. He always did love to keep me waiting, didn't he? Arrogant prat."

She knew who he meant, the man whose name had hardly ever left their lips until she had named a son after him. Gwen nodded, looking weaker by the second. Merlin bent over and brushed back her hair, kissed her forehead and gave Leon a slow, respectful nod. Then, with a soft smile and glow of gold, he sent them to sleep until their deaths.

He stood there, watching, tears flooding his eyes, unable to force himself to continue on until the castle began to shudder anew and the clashing of swords and the sounds of dying men grew too close for comfort.

Then he shook off the heavy mantle of grief, took up the sleeping boy up in his arms and made his way down to the catacombs. He was forced to use a few spells along to way to stay hidden, breaking up the memories that were nearly overwhelming him. This castle had been his home once and had become his home again, this time with his magic in the open, no Gaius to help him and an entire kingdom to protect. It had been just as difficult as it had been wonderful.

He'd stayed away for fifteen years, protecting Camelot and Arthur's legacy from outside dangers, but never getting close enough to speak to those he'd left behind. That time hadn't been a happy one, spent mostly in learning how to function with only half a soul and how to become what Camelot needed. There were still sorcerers to fight, bandits to discourage and innocent lives to save. So he did all of these things in secret. Only later did he discover that Gwen and Gaius had taken every occasion to spread the word about a mysterious sorcerer benefactor. All of Camelot knew of his deeds, but they didn't know his identity.

One day, he'd awoken in his dusty hut and realized that his reasons for staying away had evaporated. So he walked into Camelot without even a disguise. He'd gone straight to the throne room, escorted by a guard of soldiers, only a few who had recognized him as Merlin. Once there, he'd waited for entry, feeling empty and numb.

When the doors had opened, the flood of feelings had nearly overwhelmed him. The room sang of Arthur's presence, of his legacy. Merlin had walked forward, feeling the weight of his failure and the lack of his king. At the dais where Gwen sat beside an empty throne, Merlin had fallen to his knees, begging her forgiveness for failing her husband and all of Camelot, ready and willing to pay whatever forfeit she demanded.

Instead, she'd sunk to her knees before him and thrown her arms around his neck, crying softly. When their eyes finally met, he saw love and joy among the pain in them and knew that he'd punished both of them by staying away. A soft smile had stolen over his face and a new peace had entered his heart. In wonder, he had watched her rise, proclaiming him the secret sorcerer who had been helping Camelot for two decades.

To his shock, Camelot welcomed its own sorcerer home and gladly saw him installed as the Court Sorcerer before the year was through. He'd been enchanted by Gwen and Leon's children and had become their honorary uncle, had been acknowledged over and over as Camelot's savior and had seen the fruit of all that Arthur had done. Despite his continued sorrow, he had found a new path to joy. Sometimes he let his memories fade and it felt as though it had happened to someone else, as though a large part of him hadn't died with Arthur after all.

But now that was all falling away again and he was saying goodbye, for himself and for Arthur. Despite Merlin's desperate hoping to the contrary, Arthur would not be returning in time to save Camelot. The castle would fall and Arthur would never see it again. Merlin sobbed as he walked, taking some measure of comfort from the boy in his arms. Little Prince Arthur was limp and breathing sweetly, unaware that Camelot, his entire world, was collapsing around him.

Merlin protected them both as they passed through miles of caverns, crossed an underground river and came out safely in a cave near Escetia.

There, he collapsed and drew a magical cloak of sleep over them both that lasted a year, unwilling and unable to deal with their collective grief.


	4. Waylaid

This time, when he woke, Matthew's mind was clearer beneath the vague fog of pain. The dream he'd just had, deep and meaningful as it had felt, was already fading from his mind. He found himself relieved and saddened in equal amounts. It must have been some dream.

Instead he found his mind full of the recent past-the thing that had hunted, captured and pretty much had him but for the two strange men that had interfered. He was grateful to them, but this feeling of debt was uncomfortable.

There was a sharp stab of pain as Matthew breathed in deeply, sharp enough to take away all the air he'd just gotten. Tugging the covers down, he was surprised to see his chest and lower abdomen wrapped in bandages. Someone had put loose pajama bottoms on him. He breathed more shallowly this time and reached up to the side of his face. It felt numb and swollen and...were those stitches? Nope. Just bandages. _Ouch._

"Oh, honey, you're awake!" His mother was suddenly inside the room and there by his side, in a flurry of kisses and love and frustration. "You _would_ wake up the second I'm in the bathroom! How are you feeling?" She sat down by the side of his bed and put a hand on his arm, leaving his hands free to use sign language.

_I'm okay. Head hurts._

"Well, that would be because of the giant lump on the back of your head. It's already gone down some, thank the Lord."

_Did you hear about the...thing that attacked me?_

She hesitated. "Your father is still with the police and the animal control officers, trying to figure that out right now. It's...terrifying, the pictures of it. And for some reason it just had to pick on you." Her eyes teared up. "Cricket said that it seemed to be hunting you. Do you know why?"

Matthew shook his head. _It came out of nowhere. There was nothing I could do._ He flushed to the roots of his hair, hating the memory of his own helplessness. _Worst moment of my life._

"It's okay, honey. No one could have done better. But...we're considering getting you a taser, or something." He looked up in surprise, but his mother didn't appear to be teasing. "I've always wanted you to have some protection, especially If you're going to be on campus alone with Cricket."

Matthew's smile grew teasing._ I don't think a taser would have worked on that thing._

"Well, it might have," she said, but he saw the doubt in her eyes and the exact second that she stopped pretending. "Oh, honey, why it is always you?" she laughed through her tears.

_What do you mean,_ he signed, but she had already turned away.

"You know, those men who helped you are still here, in the waiting room. Arthur says that they're here to protect you." She turned back, her bright brown eyes searching his.

He just shrugged, baffled.

"Are you sure you've never seen them before?

Matthew shook his head, though the name Arthur had seemed to strike a chord in him the first time he'd heard it. He signed,_ I don't know why he said that, but I'd be dead meat if it weren't for them. Maybe they can give me broadsword lessons._

She laughed, but it wasn't hard to see past it to the worry in her eyes. "You need to rest first, sweetie, so you can heal. Please, try not to sleepwalk. You'll give the nurses fits."

Matthew grimaced.

"I know. You hardly do it anymore. Except for when something upsets you," she pointed out. He gave her a soft glare. "Well, who wouldn't be upset by that thing coming after them? But, fine, I'll drop it. Moving on, I'm here until six, so what can I do for you?"

Matthew didn't really need much except for sleep and painkillers. He slept most of the time, hardly even realizing it when his mother left and his dad came in for a few hours.

It wasn't until the next day when he was more awake and his parents were both at work, unable to run interference for him, that he witnessed first-hand the flurry of activity caused by the attack. People in authority don't like feeling flummoxed. Unfortunately, the appearance of an urban legend such as a wendigo on a college campus didn't cause as much open-minded strategizing as it did mindless panic and name-calling.

Matthew's room held a steady parade of experts, officers, and university representatives, all there to acquit themselves of blame. His inability to answer their questions aloud annoyed them and a sign language translator was eventually called in. But they still didn't like what he had to say. They spit out questions that had no answers, gave excuses, made accusations and hard-hearted predictions and left behind a general feeling of ill-will. It was evident that no one knew how to handle this nonexistent creature that attacked Matthew or had any idea how to prevent it from happening again. It all left him far more willing to consider the words of the two men from the previous night. Maybe they were his best protection after all, if this wasn't over.

At length, after the police had gone and the university president had been asked to leave (the jerk was far more worried about bad publicity in the papers than he was about his inept campus security), Matthew sent the nurse to ask the men to come in so that he could speak with them. What else was he supposed to do?

Arthur came in with a stiff smile on his face, giving a greeting before heading for the window. Again, Matthew was struck by how much emotion the man's eyes held despite the simple words; it made him very uncomfortable. Gwaine, thank god, seemed much more straight forward. He walked right up to the bed, grinning. "Merlin-I mean, Matthew, how are you, mate?"

Matthew held up a hand to signal wait and grabbed his cell phone from the bedside table, glad that at least his fingers weren't injured. He quickly typed in on his keypad _Fine. Thank you for your help last night._

"Ohhhh, I see. Brilliant. Look, Arthur, he can write to us!" Gwaine held up the phone with a grin. "Told you we needed one of these. He said thanks for helping him last night and says he's fine. 'Course he does." Gwaine gave him a fond smile. "Like you'd say anything else when you're half busted-up."

Arthur gave a lighter echo of that smile before moving on to business. "We couldn't help but overhear some of what was said in here. They didn't seem to be very helpful for leaders of the city."

Merlin typed quickly and Gwaine read his note aloud. _You two seem to know more than anybody else around here. What was that thing?_

Arthur gave Gwaine a glance before answering. "We're not entirely sure, but we think it was a magical creature, one we've never encountered before."

Merlin's eyebrows rose. _Magic?_ he mouthed.

"Crikey. Look at him-he doesn't believe us!" Gwaine started laughing, handing him back the cell phone.

Arthur didn't seem to find it funny. "You don't know anything about magic, then?"

Merlin shook his head, jaw tight, despite the motion making the pounding in his head worse. Truth be told, his mother's cryptic words had jangled his nerves before the questioning had even began with the police and officials. Now the pain medication was wearing off and these two were asking about magic and then acting as if he was the crazy one. He hated that.

_Why the hell would I know anything about magic,_ he began to type angrily, but Arthur cut into his vehement rant.

"Calm down, Matthew. I promise you, we'll tell you everything we know. It's just that..." Arthur trailed off and gave Matthew a long, deep look before saying, "I don't know where to start. There's too much to explain. First, you don't need to thank us for helping you. It is we who owe you, many times over." He paused, giving Matthew just enough time to be overwhelmed by the man's words. "You still don't know who we are?"

Matthew shook his head and once again, saw that pained look come over Arthur's face. "That's fine. It just makes this a bit more difficult."

Matthew started a new message. _Why do you think you know me?_

Gwaine took the phone and read its message to Arthur in a more subdued voice.

"Because we do," Arthur bit out. "Think. My name is Arthur. His name is Gwaine. We knew you from before, from a long, long time ago. You must remember...something."

Matthew shook his head, still foggy from the medicine and the pain. None of this made sense. He was only twenty-two years old and he was pretty damn sure he'd remember meeting these two.

Gwaine pulled up a chair beside the bed. "Don't strain something in there, mate," he said, gesturing to Matthew's head, "it's not important who we are. But that thing that came after you last night is dangerous and it won't be the last. This country is young and hungry for old magic and you're powerful enough that it _feels_ you here. Things have grown and started moving around simply for the purpose of finding you."

"Gwaine," Arthur said sharply, "that's enough." His gaze took in Matthew's wide-eyed gaze and visibly softened. "Don't be scared. That's why we're here. We won't let anything happen to you, Merlin, we promise."

_I'm not Merlin,_ he started to sign, but a sudden realization bloomed in his mind. The names suddenly linked in his mind. Arthur...had the man said his name was Gawain or Gwaine? No matter, because they kept calling him...Merlin, as in _the_ Merlin?

He stared at the blond man, searching for something and found that yes, he could see in the man's bearing the gravitas and visage of a king. Matthew swallowed and looked at Gwaine, thinking of the swordsmanship he'd seen briefly, of their accents. They really could be...them. But...

_I'm not Merlin!_ he keyed in furiously, his mind filled with images of a mystical old man with long, white hair and beard. Gwaine read out his message with no great enthusiasm and the hope that had grown on their faces died.

"You don't know who you are," Arthur returned acidly. He leaned down and Matthew found himself pinned in place by his bright blue gaze. "Believe it or not, you are the most powerful warlock ever to walk the face of earth. You were sent here to rest and recover while you waited for me to return. And I have. Here I am, returned from the dead." He eased back from him and concluded, "Apparently, you won't be any good to us until you remember that."

Gwaine was standing now, his eyes narrowed at Arthur. "It's no good pitching a fit. You think he likes being young, helpless and American?"

"I'm trying to help him remember!" Arthur shot back over the bed.

"Yeah, and you're about as good at helping him now as you always were."

Arthur clenched a fist in an effort to stay calm. "I suppose you have a better idea?"

"I've got one," said a rich, sassy voice from the doorway. "How about you two stop yelling over my patient like an old, gay married couple in K-Mart?"

Arthur and Gwaine looked over to see a large, black woman in a garish purple nursing scrubs, glaring at them with one eyebrow raised.

"You've managed to raise his heart rate _and_ his blood pressure and put his oxygen level in the red zone! It's time for you to go. Any questions?" The two men looked at her blankly. "Good. Now get you and your fancy-ass accents out of my patient's room 'fore I call security." When they started moving toward the door, she pushed past them to Matthew's side.

Arthur was appalled to see that Matthew had, indeed, grown pale and his forehead had a fine sheen of sweat as he struggled to take in enough air. "We had no intention of-I'm sorry. We'll leave."

She glared at them on the way out, then turned to Matthew. "Remember me, baby? I'm Tanya and you need to calm down 'fore you hurt yourself. That's it, baby," the nurse cooed,  
setting an extra-large travel cup of water with a straw on his bedside table, "just look at me and take in a big, ole' breath. In and out. Go-od!" she praised him, drawing the word out into two syllables. "In and out. You gonna' be just fine. Tanya's goin' to take good care of you."

After the men left, Matthew found that slowly, by focusing on Tanya's face, he was able to calm down and breathe better. Once he had recovered, she puttered about while his brain went on autopilot and finally faded into an exhausted sleep.

When he woke later, his mother was back and she was discussing the two men with Tanya. Matthew couldn't help but hope they would bar the men from returning. At least for now. He couldn't even think about the crazy idea they had put in his mind.

* * *

Arthur had years of experience at holding his emotions in check in public. A large part of his training as a prince had gone into learning to show what he was feeling only when it was something of which his father approved. Even when he'd gotten older, he found it difficult to shake the instincts that training had given him. As such, this should have been a far easier task than it was: traveling halfway around the world to find that your servant, your best friend who had given his life for you in every way that mattered, was not only _not_ himself, but believed himself to be another person entirely and had no recollection of having ever met you. It was not easy in the least.

"This is intolerable," Arthur ground out from his position by the third floor waiting room window. The view, as always, showed a bewildering array of cars from under which many different kinds of creatures could be crawling toward them at any moment. Soon enough, Arthur feared that would be the case. His skin was itching to take Gwaine and Merlin some place where they could dig in and be fortified-some place safer than this building with so many exits and workers and patients and staff. Safety here was an illusion; did no one see that?

Gwaine was slouching in a seat nearby, his sharp eyes flicking from person to person. "What's intolerable? Your attitude?"

Arthur blinked several times, trying to keep the words in, but found that he had to say them anyway. "He doesn't know who I am," he bit out, turning to glare at Gwaine.

Gwaine looked affronted. "He doesn't know who I am, either, but you don't see me throwing a tantrum, do you? Face it, princess, _no one_ knows who you are here."

Arthur let those words sink in, taking in the grimness of Gwaine's tone. "I don't care about that." And he meant it. Yes, he'd been trained to be king, and he'd set his entire being toward the goal of being a great king. But not for the glory, not for the fame. He'd done it because his kingdom needed him and that time...was long past. "But Merlin..." Now, only one man needed him.

"I almost wish we could leave him alone. He seemed so happy," Gwaine mused, and Arthur found himself agreeing. They had encountered Merlin as Matthew earlier in the day before the beast attacked, and had watched him and his friends on their lazy afternoon with interest, Gwaine nearly in hysterics when that boy had run into a tree. "If there was one thing Merlin wanted," Gwaine continued, "it was to be normal. And it looks like he finally got his wish. Or, at least, as close as he could get."

"No," Arthur scrubbed at the rough, short beard on his face that he couldn't get used to, "that wasn't what he truly wanted."

"Really? And what was it, then?" Gwaine sounded perturbed.

"He wanted to be known for who he really was, to stop having to hide." That's why Arthur's last words had been aimed directly to fill that need, the last gift he could give his friend. The irony was killing him: now that Arthur was finally back, ready to know the real Merlin, Merlin didn't even know himself.

Gwaine hunched over again, his face dark. "Why the hell didn't he tell me, then?"

Arthur found himself laughing. "Tell you? The first thing you would have done is dragged him into the court and demanded that I knight him and abolish the ban on magic."

"Yeah. So? Would that have been so wrong?"

"No. But I would not have understood. Things would have gone badly for Merlin when he revealed his magic had I not been mortally wounded at the time. It was only because I couldn't get away from him, and was in no shape to deal out any justice of my own, that I was forced to watch and listen. "

"So that's what it takes to shut you up-a mortal wound."

Arthur smiled briefly. "Perhaps. What I don't understand is why he can't speak. It doesn't make sense. Was there some sort of physical damage done during the transformation? I guess there's no way of knowing. And he certainly can't tell us."

The silence grew. By the time Arthur glanced over again, Gwaine's expression had gone hollow. "Really don't want to talk about this...but I don't think you get it yet. Fifteen hundred years, Arthur. That's a long time and, for Merlin...it got bad." He turned pain-filled eyes on Arthur. "There were times...times he begged for death and there was nothing we could do."

Arthur cursed under his breath and paced over to the window, automatically checking the parking lot again. He and Gwaine both seemed compelled to do this even though the place was about as fortified as Swiss cheese. But nothing looked sinister outside, and the distraction from his dark thoughts didn't work for long.

"Did none of you _think_ of trying to wake me?" He turned to pierce Gwaine with a glance, but the man was hunched over in his chair, elbows on his knees, facing the floor.

"Course we did. We couldn't even get near you," he said simply. "Too much..." he gestured loosely, "magic."

Arthur could read the misery in Gwaine's body and imagined not for the first time what it would have been like to watch Merlin live unhappily for so long and not be able to help him. His temper cooled and, after a moment of thought, he walked back over to sit by his friend. "I wasn't given a choice in the matter. If I had been, I would have been by his side. Do you believe me?"

Gwaine looked over and studied Arthur's gaze briefly, then nodded before looking down again.

"Good. As I see it, you were chosen to be the witness of Merlin's trials. A very hard honor, perhaps, but one that, for some reason, I was denied." Arthur leaned over, resting his forearms against his knees. "Do you think you could fill me in on what happened to him while I was waiting?"

"Gods, why isn't there a tavern in this place? They have everything else," Gwaine groaned.

Arthur gave Gwaine a hard pat on the shoulder, then leaned back and settled his head against the wall. He paused a moment. "Whenever you're ready."

Gwaine sighed, his gaze passing to the other inhabitant in the room, an elderly man sleeping in the corner with his feet propped up. Visitors had come and gone all day, wrapped up in their own stories, their own tragedies and miracles. The foot traffic had grown heavier until after the evening meal, when it thinned out again. Now it was almost too quiet.

"I'll just tell you one bit to start off with. It's maybe the part that will be most interesting to you, or the most painful. Sorry if it is," Gwaine sent him an apologetic look.

Arthur nodded.

"I'll tell you about Merlin's son...little Arthur."

Arthur's jaw dropped.

"He didn't name him that, you understand. He was Gwen and Leon's oldest. You know they married?" Gwaine paused to see Arthur nod. "They had Arthur first, then Eddis and then sweet little Hildie. Great kids. But it was a bad time. Camelot was on its last legs. Hated watching it, even from Avalon. Saxons were sneaking around. Mercia and Northumbria were sending small raiding parties and denying any part of it when they failed. Leon was injured badly in one of those raids and could no longer train the troops.

"That job went to Sir Gideon, a wolf in sheep's clothing if I've ever seen one. Bastard. He'd been planning all along to help Sir Lionel wrest the crown away from Gwen. Her children weren't yours, see? And there was a large bunch of idiots who thought since they weren't Uther's blood...well, you see where this is heading, right?" Gwaine smiled bitterly. "Sir Gideon made a pact with the Saxons, letting them into Camelot. Blithering idiot thought he could control them. At the same time, Sir Lionel poisoned the healer and the entire royal family, minus little Arthur, who had disobeyed his father and was on the castle walls watching the battle at the time with Percival's oldest son, Thirrin."

"Where was Merlin during all of this?"

"Keeping the Saxons away from the castle, using his magic to fight from the top of the tower. Looked a god up there, lightning flashing from his staff. You remember." Arthur nodded, seeing Camlann again in his mind-bodies flying as the dark sky was split by strikes of brilliant white, the cool air laden with smoke while a dark figure stands high above.

Gwaine continued, "But then the bells started ringing, and he knew something was wrong with the royal family. Merlin was given a terrible choice: save Gwen and her sons, or fight the Saxons and save Camelot. He ran to her side only for her to wrest the choice away from him. She ordered him to take Arthur and flee, said it was too late to save her and Camelot. So Merlin killed Sir Lionel, left Sir Gideon to rot and fled the city. Saxons overran the castle, killed Sir Gideon, and... that was the end of Camelot."

Arthur buried his head in his hands for a moment and breathed in and out, forcing himself to remember that this was all long past, that there was nothing he could do to change it. He himself had seen Gwen and Leon in Avalon; they were fine now. But heavy emotions drowned out anything else he wanted to say. He gave Gwaine a strong, comforting clasp on the shoulder before standing and pacing to the window again. In his mind's eye, Camelot still stood and it was harder than he expected to mentally deconstruct that image.

"But Merlin saved my namesake?" he prompted Gwaine.

"Yeah, he did. Raised him as his own, though he kept his promise to Gwen and told the boy where he came from and who his real parents had been. I don't think Arthur ever really understood, though. How could he? It was already a different time, and Camelot was...well, it was gone and nothing else was ever like it again."

"I guess Merlin was a good father."

"The best," Gwaine grinned. "He threw himself into raising that boy with everything he had. Hunith lived with them for a few years before she died. Then they went and lived with the Druids. But that was the end, really. Arthur fell in love with a Druid girl, wanted to settle down and leave his dad. It shouldn't have been the end of the world, but you know Merlin, never does anything halfway. He could tell they wanted space and time away from him. I think it broke his heart; he'd already lost so many people he cared about. So he left Arthur behind and went wandering for a while." Gwaine looked grim. "That was a dark time. He ended up in the Crystal Cave and fell asleep. When he woke up, it had been another hundred years and everything had changed."

"A hundred _years?"_

"A very _bad_ hundred years. The King of Mercia, Penda, I think it was, decided he hated the Druids. Wiped them all out in systematic attacks. I didn't watch much of those years, since Merlin wasn't out and about. Eventually, Penda was killed by Oswy, the king of...Northumbria, I think. Strange name, innit?"

"So Arthur and his wife died then? No children?"

"They had one girl, but she died with her parents when Penda's hellions swept through. So the bloodline of Queen Guinevere was cut off. Merlin felt enough guilt over that for ten lifetimes. He hadn't meant to sleep that long. You know how he is-was-I mean, _is."_ They exchanged a troubled look. "He thought he failed little Arthur as he had you and Gwen, and oh gods, everyone else. That was the first time he truly wanted to die." Gwaine paused, shaking his head.

"But, he found someone new to protect: the great, great, great-something of Percival, Bastion, who ended up the right-hand man for Offa, the newest king of Mercia. Bastion was a strong ox of a man, but smart and quiet like good old Percival. Merlin hid his true nature from them, of course, but lent himself to Bastion as a servant and kept him safe, as he had you. With Bastion's help, Offa became the king over all of bloody England, at least for a time. Finally, in a battle, Merlin had to choose between saving Bastion and saving Offa. Offa was the loser and his wounds led to his death."

"Merlin hid his magic from them?"

"Oh yeah. Magic was very much frowned upon. They'd have burned him at the stake. Well, they'd have tried."

Arthur shook his head, hurt by the thought that Merlin had hid himself away again. "So Merlin was a king-maker once more."

"And for the last time. When Offa died and Egbert became king, Merlin left it all behind again. All Egbert was good for was conquering other lands, bloodthirsty fool that he was. Merlin couldn't serve a man like that. Offa had been bad enough."

"So what did he do then?"

"He retired to the woods, deep in the Woods of the Forbidden Kings. That was the closest he ever got to happy, alone. He stayed in the woods and went kind of wild. The woodland spirits...oh, they like Merlin." Gwaine grinned. "They like him a lot. The tree girls came out to play and Freya sent water fairies and all kinds of creatures migrated just to be near him. Yeah, he was almost happy then."

"Good." Arthur was relieved to get to a part of Merlin's history that didn't leave him feeling cut to ribbons with guilt. "But I still don't understand. Why can't he speak? Why can't he remember us?"

"I think it's because he doesn't really want to," Gwaine said softly.

"But I know who he is now. I know that's what he wanted for all those years he served me and... " Arthur trailed off then sat straight up. "That's it. That's why I'm here."

"What? Why?" Gwaine sat up straighter.

Arthur stood slowly. "He doesn't know who I am, just like I didn't know who he was back when he was my servant. And I'm going to have to serve him and protect him while he's a young, idiotic American who doesn't know who I really am."

A slow smile grew on Gwaine's face. "You mean, it's kinda' like payback?"

"Exactly." Arthur strode straight for Merlin's door, but paused when Tanya came out of the room and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Can I help you?" she said with a neck bobble full of attitude.

"I need to speak with Me-Matthew for just one minute, to apologize for upsetting him. Would that be alright with you?"

After a long pause, she crossed her arms. "If I hear one cross word, I'm comin' in and you are _not_ going to like what happens next. I don't care who you are, I will have you thrown out of this hospital like _that."_ She snapped her fingers at him.

"You have my word," he said, smiling at her.

At that, she visibly relented. "Um-hmm. I bet that smile gets you all kinda' places with girls, honey, but it don't work on me." She hummed a disparaging note as she moved into position to overhear their conversation. "Go right ahead. Dig your own grave."

Arthur found himself taken aback by her fierceness, but decided that he liked someone like her protecting Merlin, despite her inane way of speaking. "Thank you," he said politely as he passed.

Merlin was lying in the bed, looking exhausted and pale beneath the stitches and bruising on his face. Pain stabbed Arthur in the gut again as he looked at his long-lost friend, knowing him to still be far away in mind even if he was present in body. Destiny was not kind.

"Mer-Matthew?"

Merlin's eyes flew open and he looked up at Arthur groggily.

Arthur sat beside him and fumbled with the right words. "Please. Forgive me for being so harsh earlier. This is difficult for me. What I meant to say is that I'm here to protect you, to serve you, in any way that you need me to do so. Do you understand?"

Merlin's brow wrinkled and that puzzled, unguarded look was so familiar that Arthur's chest constricted again. His eyes stung with tears and he had to refrain from touching Merlin or ruffling his hair.

"You don't, of course you don't. Just know this: I swear I will protect you or die trying."

The words seemed to stir something deeper in Merlin, and his gaze grew in intensity until Arthur half-expected him to exclaim that he recognized him now. But instead, tears grew in the boy's eyes and he once again looked too young, too fragile to be the Merlin that Arthur had known for so many years. Damn Destiny or whoever it was who reduced his friend to this state. He stood uncomfortably.

"If you need me, I'll be outside," Arthur said. The boy nodded, seeming unaware of the few tears that had slipped down his cheeks. Arthur tried to refrain, but found he simply had to lean forward and ruffled Merlin's hair, giving him a soft smile as he did so. Merlin watched him leave with something like awe on his face.

Arthur walked out feeling more right than he had since waking up a week ago and finding Merlin missing from his side. His conversation seemed to have done Tanya some good as well. She moved to let Arthur pass, waving a hand with manicured nails in front of her watering eyes.

He paused. "Was that all right?" he asked her.

"Was that all right?" she asked him right back, her voice thick with emotion. "Honey, that was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Her hand went to her ample chest. "It must just _kill_ you that he doesn't recognize you."

Real pain lanced through him at her words and it took him a moment to meet her eyes again. "He will soon enough."

"I'm sure he will honey. And what you just said will do him a world of good." She patted his shoulder awkwardly. As she walked away, he heard her muttering, "'Was that all right,' he asks, like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth."


	5. Target

Matthew awoke groggily, his mind latching on to an image from his dreams and this time, saving it for him: a young boy with wheat-colored curls and round, gray-blue eyes that looked up at him somberly, as if they had seen the darkness of the world and couldn't imagine it away even in the full light of day. Matthew wanted to call the boy Arthur, but that made no sense at all. There was very little resemblance between the tall, strong and striking man loitering around the hospital and the young, thin boy, but his heart wanted to hold on to both with an affection that was slightly alarming.

"Matt?"

Peeking around the corner was his girlfriend, Cricket.

His hands jumped up of their own accord, signing away. _Where have you been? Why am I just now seeing you?_

She laughed lightly at the vehemence of his gestures and walked quickly over to hug him, enveloping him in her sweet scent. "I know. It was my dad. You know how over-the-top he can get, and this just pushed all the wrong buttons." She grimaced and settled down in the chair by his bed, patting his arm lightly. "How are you?"

_Better,_ he signed, awkwardly trying to sit up. She helped him use the controls to sit the head of the bed up so he didn't feel like such an invalid._ Are you okay? Did it hurt you?_

She smiled and shook her head. "Stop worrying about me, silly. You're the one who was bleeding all over the grass. All I got was a good scare, nothing more. Are you sure you're okay?"

_Yeah, thanks to those two guys. I think they're still here._

Matthew trailed off, deciding in that instant to keep some of his confusion from her. He could in no way explain what the men had said, or how Arthur had looked as he'd said that he would protect him or die trying, or how the image of a boy he'd didn't know was stuck in his head and somehow in his heart. It was all too delicate to put into words, and she wouldn't understand. Because he didn't, either.

"I saw them while we were waiting that night. It's weird they're still here. Good, but weird, I guess, when you consider..." she trailed off, shifting in her chair. "But even for British guys, they just seem weird. That Arthur never relaxes, like, _ever_. And Gwaine, well, he's a gentleman, but only just and sometimes he zones out like he's...seeing another world or something." Her eyes met his and he reached for her hand, nodding. She gripped it like a lifeline, her gaze searching his intently before speaking again. "Matt, have you been watching the news?"

He shook his head, puzzled at the sudden change in her tone.

"There's been a lot of disappearances yesterday and today, some of them from the university. My Dad, well, both of my parents are freaking out. They want me to come home."

Matthew, stunned, pulled his hand away to sign. _To California? Now?_

"I've got a flight out tonight. I'm going straight from the hospital."

Matthew's hands stuttered as he tried to object, to ask for information and comfort her all at once. She held his hands gently to calm him and then picked up the remote, switching the channel to a local channel. "It's all they're talking about lately."

A news anchor was continuing a live broadcast from behind a desk, several pieces of paper were clutched in his hand. "We have been informed here at KMLT that this story has been taken live on a national level. My name is Jack Llewellyn and I'd like to welcome you to this broadcast. We'll be sure to get the most current information out there to you if you'll stay tuned. Amber Rodriguez is reporting live from the warehouse district this morning. So, tell us, Amber, what is the scene by the Granger warehouse?"

"Thank you, Richard, it's very grim here," said a blond news reporter facing the camera with a concerned expression. "And I have to warn viewers that if you are squeamish, you might want to skip the details on this one. Behind me, you can see the tape the barring entrance to the Granger warehouse. The Granger store, for those of you that aren't familiar with the name, is one of the biggest magic retailers out there, sending its games, cards and magician support paraphernalia to customers all over the country since locating here in two years ago.

"Since then, the city of Crystal River has become a hot spot for fans of magic. Businesses have sprung up linked to all parts of the magic business. Unfortunately, that may have drawn some negative attention as well. Many of the recent disappearances in Crystal River yesterday have the sole link that they involve people who frequent magic shops or work in the magic industry to some extent.

"Unfortunately, some of those missing persons reports have ended in tragedy. There are four bodies here at the Granger store warehouse, all mutilated to some extent. It's been difficult to get details because authorities are still exploring the area and identifying bodies. What we do know is that the bodies were found when employees showed up for work this morning and called 911. The bodies were dismembered and one witness said that they appeared to be partially eaten."

The screen split to show both Richard and Amber. The anchor looked shocked. "Did you say...partially eaten?"

"Yes, Richard. Despite being warned to the contrary, I feel that it's important to get this part of the report out to the public so that they can make more informed decisions about their own safety." Amber pulled out a typed sheet of paper and held it in front of her, "Part of what we're hearing from the police is that there have been a rash of rare creature sightings that seem to be linked to the disappearances and perhaps to these murders themselves. This creature has never been seen here before."

Matthew suddenly sucked in a breath and realized that he'd forgotten to breathe. Cricket's hands tightened on his own.

"But it has been seen in other parts of the country?" Richard asked.

"Yes. In unconfirmed reports," Amber admitted. "The most logical intersect of all this information is that we're dealing with a wendigo, a creature from Native American mythology that is inhumanly strong and ravenously hungry."

"Yet, we must underline the fact that it is only conjecture at this time. Have there been any eyewitness reports?"

"Yes. Two days ago, there was an attack on a student at Florida East University. The student was being dragged off by one of these beasts when two men came to his rescue. They were able to kill the beast and turned the body over to the police. No photos have been released from the autopsy, but I've just learned that the hairs found on these bodies in the warehouse matches the fur on the beast that was killed on the campus."

"Thank you, Amber for all of your hard work." The screen went to showing the anchor exclusively. "She'll continue to keep us updated from the warehouse district. This just in from the local authorities, the people of Crystal River are asked to stay in their homes and to restrict all movement in the streets until these creatures are found and restrained or destroyed. Classes at the university and all city schools are cancelled until further notice. Please follow the emergency pick-up procedures for your school. Anyone who sees one of these creatures is to call our hotline at the following number..."

As the anchor went on, Matthew pulled himself together enough to sign, _I want you to go home, too. Any room for me in your suitcase?_

Cricket swallowed, hard. "Oh, Matt. I wish there was."

* * *

Despite his worry and probably because of his depression, Matthew felt sleepy after Cricket left.

He dreamt again, a happier dream than the last.

He was in a deep wood, in a glade where no human had ever trod, as far from civilization as he could get. No one knew where he was; no one cared. Anyone who even knew his name had been long gone and he found that he preferred it that way. There were no ties to the life that was moving on around him, no ties to Time itself.

He was adrift.

He knew that he was waiting for something, but the details were submerged in his mind, crowded out by wonder at the beauty surrounding him.

The woods were full of life, deep in a cradle of Magic. He could feel it all around him, feeding him, strengthening him, renewing him. Creatures of all kinds came to him, magical and non-magical, and he knew them. There were naiads from the trees and dryads from the water and fauns, fairies of all types and animals that hadn't been seen for hundreds of years. Because he had let go all that made him human, they were not threatened by him and welcomed his command. He was a king, of sorts, and they brought him food from the bounty of nature, garments of soft moss and ivy, crowns of blooms for his hair and a new staff of rowan wood.

In a flash, he was wearing the strange, clinging clothing, running through the wood faster than he would have thought possible, laughing aloud as a herd of deer kept chase. His passing disturbed a flock of yellow butterflies and they took to the sky after him. The joy of freedom such as he'd never known swelled in him until he forgot all that was not here and now.

It was the best dream Matthew had ever had.

When he woke, the sense of loss was so keen that he first thought all the pain he was feeling was grief. He lay on his side and stared at the blank wall, covered in darkness and shadows and bereft of the life that had been in such abundance in his dream. Miserably, he tugged at the bandage on his face. It was cold in his room, strangely, bitterly cold. Why was his chest hurting? Pressing a hand to his sternum, Matthew turned over-and froze.

A spectre floated over him, glowing in the darkness. Her face was gaunt, her eyes narrowed in hate. The gown she wore floated in the air like a luminescent cloud upon the sea. When she opened her mouth, a shriek split the air. Matthew flung his hands over his ears.

The cold became sharper and bone-deep as she floated lower, hissing "She keeps telling me to hurt you! Who are you?"

Matthew was fumbling for the nurse's call button, wishing he had an Arthur call button instead. His trembling hands knocked several things off the tray table to the side of his bed. The girl's face flickered in and out and her hair floated straight out from her head like tentacles.

**_"Who are you?"_** she screamed, opening her mouth horrifyingly wide.

The door slammed open and Arthur was there, blinking, taking in the spectre and reaching for the weapon at his side that wasn't there. Matthew, who was once again helpless and hating himself for it, managed to feel slightly amused at the look on his face. Arthur cursed, then walked forward slowly, hands outstretched.

"Keep away from him," he told the ghost, who, surprisingly, did just as he asked, backing away to the ceiling with a hateful snarl. Arthur gestured and Matthew slid off the bed, stumbling and grimacing and leaning on the i.v. stand. Arthur reached out and pulled Matthew behind him, then turned to face the floating specter, who was hissing and gurgling in some other language.

_What is that thing?_ Matthew wanted to ask as he stood like an idiot, one hand grasping his i.v. stand, the other keeping the back of his hospital gown closed.

"I don't suppose you know what that is." Arthur risked a look back at him. "I didn't think so."

Matthew _fwapped_ him with one hand and glared at him, thinking,_ Do something!_

"And what exactly do you suggest that I do? Magic was always your area of expertise, not that I knew that at the time," Arthur muttered under his breath.

Matthew fixed his eyes on the girl muttering threats and doing loop-de-loops on the ceiling of his hospital room and suddenly remembered: this man thought he was King Arthur and that his friend was Gwaine, a knight of the Round Table. They thought Matthew was Merlin! They were crazy, both of them. But then again, Matthew thought, looking overhead, crazy things were happening all the time here. If King Arthur were likely to come back, wouldn't it be when the world was going to hell?

As if she could read his mind, the ghostly girl turned to him and said, _"Go away! Go **away!**"_ And she flew at them so fast that Matthew didn't register anything but her face, distorted with rage, and then Arthur pulling at him and then he was on the floor, half kneeling, half sprawled while Arthur blocked the ghost from sight. The next moment, she was gone.

Arthur was helping a groaning Matthew to his feet when the door cracked open and a small, mousy girl in purple scrubs walked in. She paused when she saw them. "Hi. I'm Stephanie, the night nurse. Is...everything all right?"

Matthew jerked the back of his gown closed and blushed to the roots of his hair. He only had boxers and a t-shirt on underneath.

"Yes, he's fine," Arthur groused as he led Matthew back to the bed, pausing as Matthew pulled his hand away, "since I was here to help him. Isn't that what you're meant to be doing?" Matthew awkwardly clambered back into bed, rolling his eyes at Arthur's attitude.

Stephanie bristled up fiercely for someone half Arthur's size. "Well, sir, I was helping Mrs. Little get settled after a horrible bout of cramps and I am sure you understand that I couldn't just leave her in pain like that. My patients' needs always-"

"Yes, that's all well and good, but Matthew is a special case. He's a danger to himself."

Annoyed now, Matthew grabbed the closest available item-his thick, plastic water cup-and chunked it at Arthur.

Arthur ducked but still received a satisfying thunk to the skull before glaring at Matthew.

Matthew gestured at him curtly. _Shut up_. Then he shrugged and smiled lopsidedly at the nurse, who gave him a terse smile back.

"It _is_ my job," she said as she bustled Matthew back over to the bed and got him settled under the covers again. When he shook his head to her questions, she checked his i.v. and refilled his water cup. Before leaving, she stopped to level a glare at Arthur. "I understand why you're acting this way. I'm trained to deal with grumpy people like you who only care about their loved one and no one else. I understand." She smiled at Matthew. "If you need help again, just buzz me and I'll be here right away."

She closed the door quietly.

Matthew was still blushing at her words. _Loved one?_ His gaze went to Arthur, who was grinning at him like a loon. Puzzled, Merlin shook his head at him._ What?_

"I'm laughing at you throwing a water jug at my head. It's perfect." He looked down, still enjoying his private joke. "Too bad Gwaine missed that one."

Feeling wrong-footed, Matthew glared at him. Arthur frowned. "What?"

Matthew gestured to the ceiling.

"The girl?" Arthur sighed. "I don't think she'll do you any harm. If she meant to, she surely would have by now. But she's confirmed what I've been feeling all day: we need to get you out of here." He walked over to the bed. "I know you need to recover. We're trying to give you enough time. But truly, I can't imagine a harder place to defend than this room. Too many windows, too  
many people in and out-and not even a proper lock on the door."

Matthew shivered. Making sure to keep the blanket pulled up over his groin, he pulled aside his hospital gown and inspected his wounds. He had a gash on each hipbone, both of them glued shut and reinforced with steristrips. Some of the tape had popped off, but the wound itself was closed and not bleeding. His head and the gouges on his back were hurting worse right now, though he was sure the pain meds were keeping the worst of it away.

Arthur was watching him with a dark expression. "Is it any worse?"

Matthew shook his head and gestured a quick _thank you,_ one of the few signs which Arthur had learned. When he reached for his cell phone Arthur swept it up and handed it to him. Matthew keyed in quickly, _Aren't visiting hours over?_

Arthur read it and smiled faintly before hanging the phone back. "Yes, but we've convinced the doctors, with the help of your parents, that we're your bodyguards."

_My parents are telling the hospital that?_

Arthur read the message and nodded. "Yes, they've been most helpful. I think because they're terribly worried about you."

Matthew had another question:_ If you're King Arthur then why here, now in the U.S.? Aren't Britons waiting for you across the pond?_

Arthur broke out in a grin. "I'm here because you're here, you idiot." And somehow, even though Matthew wanted to bristle at the insult, Arthur's tone made it seem more of an endearment than an insult. "Believe me. I would dearly love to be in England right now, but...you're simply more important."

Matthew, dumbfounded, looked at Arthur, and there was a moment that stretched on far too long, their gazes locked on each other. Then Matthew yawned-couldn't fight it anymore. He'd had pain meds three hours ago, and they were still making him groggy.

"Go back to sleep," Arthur said with that fond tone in his voice.

Matt yawned again, ditched the cell phone and for some reason, didn't slap Arthur's hand away when the man pulled his covers up and tucked them under his chin like he was a child. He was pleased to discover that the air around him was a normal temperature now, just right with the covers pulled up tight. Arthur reached out to touch his hair, then apparently thought better of it.

"I'm not going to leave you alone," he said firmly.

_Not unless Tanya tells you to,_ Matthew wanted to joke but was too tired to text. His gaze followed Arthur as he opened the door and stood just outside, calling to Gwaine.

The man was a puzzle. Suddenly, Matthew recalled those stunning words from earlier, the ones that had brought tears to his eyes and resounded in his soul with something more deep than he could understand._ "I swear I will protect you or die trying."_ Who says something like that? Ever? Especially to someone they hardly knew. Which meant that Arthur truly believed him to be his long-lost friend.

Matthew carefully turned over on his side. If Arthur was crazy, then he was a determined, amazing kind of crazy. But if he were telling the truth...well, if what he said was true, then that would make everything that Matthew knew-his entire life-a lie. Tears bathed his eyes at the thought.

Would he have to leave? How could he choose a world of monsters and kings over the love of his parents and a future with Cricket? He just wasn't ready to do that, not yet.

Outside the door, the hospital was settling down, and Matthew's bodyguards were mumbling to each other about his safety. Eventually, the quiet sounds lulled him back to sleep.

* * *

Gwaine woke when Arthur called him, grumbling quietly and feeling like he needed coffee, a sandwich and a shower, in that order. He itched all over, but forgot it as soon as he saw the expression on Arthur's face.

"What happened?"

After Arthur filled him in, Gwaine cursed, feeling suddenly wide awake. "So when are we leaving?"

"I'll talk to his mother in the morning. Maybe we can get him out tomorrow night." Arthur glanced away as he answered, obviously unhappy with the necessity of staying put. "It was only a ghost of some kind and did him no harm other than scaring him. Actually roused him a little, and he was acting more like himself." Arthur smiled. "He threw a jug at me."

Gwaine barked out a laugh. "Revenge is sweet. Well, that's a good sign, then, right?"

Arthur's answering grin slowly faded. "I think so. Step in the right direction, at any rate."

"Get some rest, Arthur. You look like hell. How long's it been since you slept?"

Arthur shook his head. "I haven't thought to wonder. It seems like I've needed it less and less. Stay with him."

"Of course."

Arthur moved off to the empty grief counseling room and the cot there that the nurses had taken to letting him use. It was amazing what his posh accent, a grin and unswerving devotion to a patient could get you, even in a place like this.

Gwaine didn't need a private room to sleep in; he was well known for napping wherever and whenever it was necessary. But, of course, Arthur had to have more privacy, ever the princess.

Once Arthur was off, Gwaine eased his way to Merlin's room and peeked inside. Merlin was asleep, twitching under the covers as though dreaming deeply. No sign of the floating lady, whatever that had been about. Gwaine shook his head. Nah. He knew what it had been about: Merlin's magic. He moved inside and settled himself in a chair at the doorway.

Merlin could believe all he wanted that he was normal and deny his place at Arthur's side, but Gwaine had a feeling that things were only going to get worse and they needed to get him some place safe before that happened. He wasn't sure how it was that Merlin had remained hidden for so long.

As a matter of fact, something about Matthew's mother and the way she had responded to the crisis made Gwaine wonder how "normal" the boy's life had really been. Seems like it had to have been more normal than the previous one that lasted 1500+ years. Such a long, sad life when Merlin deserved so much better.

Gwaine stood and walked over to the bed, watching the slack, beautiful repose of his long-suffering friend. Gwaine grinned wryly, wondering what these people would think if they knew that England wouldn't even be bloody England without the help of this guardian angel. Gwaine reached out and tucked Merlin's free hand under the covers-it was freezing cold. Man never could hold body heat.

Gwaine sighed. As much as he ached to have his friend recognize him, hug him and talk as they once had, maybe it was better this way. Merlin had found the oblivion that he had desperately wanted and needed in this new life. Ignorance was a kind of bliss, after all.

On the other hand...it wasn't a safe kind of bliss. Without his magic, Merlin was nothing but a target-a helpless, sleeping target.


	6. Escape

**subject: Verona Hyde**

**date: December 21**

**time: 10:46 a.m.**

_-resume taped interview-_

*mumble of someone in the background*

"Yes. Yes, I saw them. Or at least I saw one of them, the one that got twenty million hits on Youtube? It was barbaric and Matthew was...brave, incredibly brave to face up to those monsters the way he did.

"The last time I talked to him was just minutes before it happened. He told me about a dream he'd had, which I thought was odd at the time. But he must have known what was coming. Somehow he knew that there was no way out for him.

"He did what he did to save all those people, not himself. "

_-end taped segment-_

* * *

He woke quietly, aware in an instant of the forest-his forest-around him. The trees above him shifted, the rustling leaves whispering secrets. Something strange was in the air. During the years that Merlin had lived here, his magic had seeped down into the earth and awoken it, mostly in good ways. Those trees were sentinels and friends. He reached out and patted one of the trunks idly as he yawned. He'd been asleep for a long time. How long, he wasn't even sure.

His world had shrunk down to this wood and he was content with that. For the second time, he had chosen to forsake the human world and its mutability. Far beyond his view, there were people being born, living and dying their tragically short lives. But he remained alone. It was much less painful that way. Both Arthurs had taught him the same lesson in the end: to welcome love was to welcome pain.

As Merlin shifted on his bed of lichen, he dislodged a mama bunny and her babies from his side. A fond smile danced around his mouth as the small, furry mounds moved this way and that, trying to find warmth again. He often found creatures of the forest there; they were drawn to him and to his magic. It was nice to be able to make their simple lives happier.

The mama rabbit raised an ear at him, sniffing at the air constantly.

Merlin sniffed with her. Smoke-far off. He listened, carefully, to the trees and his wood. Everything was fine here, but just beyond, where he'd last left the world of men...something had gone wrong.

Merlin climbed to his feet, stretching and grimacing. Magic swirled through him, warming his stiff joints and easing the ache in his back. How long had he been asleep? Vaguely, he remembered dancing under the stars with dryads and blessing several new deer foals before conjuring some excellent wine and bedding down under sweetly budding trees.

Then he felt it, along with a frisson of panic, the certainty of how much time had passed in his forest. More than just years...a _century?_ _What? **How?**_

Merlin stumbled a bit, looking around his forest in dismay. How could he have lost a whole century without knowing it? "Only you could misplace a hundred years, _Mer_lin," he heard Arthur tease,

"Of course, of course, you're right," he murmured back, wiping his eyes. He'd long ago given up trying not to respond to Arthur when he spoke to him; the prat would only repeat himself endlessly until he provoked a reaction of some kind. "And I suppose you want me to risk life and limb to discover the source of that smoke."

"You suppose correct. Getting more intelligent by the day, you are."

"And barmier."

"Definitely barmier, if that's even a word."

"Of course it is. It means more and more barmy. It's a perfectly good word," Merlin continued as he jogged through the forest, noting where new paths had branched off the old ones, seeing the dried up remains of several watering holes and where a few new ones had sprung up. The trees were the same, but denser and more formidable. They had grown from sentinels to a woven shield of protectors. Merlin sensed that though they welcomed his presence and progress, they would bar the explorations of men.

The air was alive with scents, but none as strong as the acrid stench of smoke. That wasn't a wood fire; there were other elements to it...unfamiliar ones.

Merlin ran for nearly an hour before he reached the end of his wood and where the lands of the other god began.

Farther beyond where he stood, people had built an abbey to learn more about their god. The creatures of the old religion had stayed well away, creeping into the forest to be with Merlin. He had welcomed them, knowing they felt the antagonism of the new god for all the old things. They knew better than to show themselves here. And so did Merlin. His information-gathering had always been from a distance.

But now...something had happened.

Agitated, Merlin eased toward the smoke. He wanted to stay away and pretend that he no longer cared. Camelot was long gone; Arthur had been gone longer still. His king hadn't actually charged him to protect the land or its people and yet...

Merlin sighed, giving in.

He no longer fit in with humans. His appearance would shock them, he was quite sure, with his long hair woven back with vines and his modesty and comfort provided for by moss, leaves and magic alone. He snorted at the thought of what the people of Camelot would have done if he'd shown up dressed in this manner.

But no matter how different he thought himself, no matter how he justified his drawing away from them, these were the people of Albion and Arthur had cared about them.

Out of a desire to be kind, Merlin magicked a shirt, boots and breeches to cover his form further. Then he hurried through the trees to a sparser wood, then to an orchard and finally to the grounds of Glastonbury Abbey.

It was sundown, growing darker by the second, so it was difficult to see anything but the silhouette of the looming stone building with the bright flare of an enormous bonfire against the side of it. There were voices weeping, crying out in protest and many others raised in anger, along with the voracious sounds of a roaring fire. The cacophony made Merlin's blood run cold.

Kept safely behind the trunk of a tree, he conjured a slight wind to clear out the smoke-heavy air, and then saw the people in front of the large abbey weeping, sobbing, clinging to each other. They were dressed in brown robes and implements that marked them as residents of the abbey, while several men in black clothing guarded them. Behind the men in black, others-likely people from the town-were tossing books and splintered wood on the bonfire. Two men dragged a long bench out of the abbey door, yelling obscenities at the monks. With great relish, they tossed the bench in the fire and the gathered townspeople cheered.

Merlin couldn't make sense of it. The abbey was a holy place, set aside for learning more about the Christian God. He had found it to be full of good people who lived peaceful lives and helped others. Why would anyone want to attack it? Beyond that, who would be so bold in the face of their god? Not even those of the Old Religion had dared such an insult. He stepped out from the tree and moved closer until he felt the further shifting of magic under his feet.

Merlin halted, the hair at the back of his neck prickling. His magic did not like this place. The worshippers of this God were strange to him, but how could he leave things as they were?

He felt pulled by the misery of the people, gentle kind people who were at the mercy of those who hated them. He could not stand and see hatred rewarded.

Looking up to the darkening sky, Merlin raised his hands and whispered words of heavy wetness. He pulled upon all the waters, whether on the ground or dissipated into the sky. Clouds massed in the dark sky quickly. Again, Merlin whispered the words, and the air swirled in a new pattern. The crying voices halted. Two men tossed a large, carved wooden chair onto the fire and turned back to the abbey to get more. Then the first drops of rain fell.

It began as a gentle downpour, stopping the misery for a moment. The faces in the firelight shone with hope and awe. But Merlin wasn't done yet. His eyes glowed and his voice rose and the downpour grew to a deluge centered around the bonfire. Now, new voices cried out, in surprise and frustration. The men who had been working to burn the abbey's furnishings turned back to see their method of conquest was dying out.

The monks fell to their knees and openly worshipped their god as the rain put out the fire and died away. When it stopped, the setting sun gilded the remaining clouds red and orange. It looked as if the fire had leapt up into the sky.

"Abbot Whiting! He has heard our prayer!"

One man stood to his feet and came forward, making the sign of the cross. He raised his voice. "God has spoken. There will be no more burning tonight, and no more violence. We will not abide by the new laws. This is our home."

"You'll regret those words, abbot. We'll be back tomorrow. And you'd better be gone," a rough voice yelled from the doorway. A few of the townspeople agreed, but the sudden rain seemed to have dampened more than just the ground.

The townspeople left the grounds and disappeared into the night. The sounds of horse hooves galloping toward town were welcome to the monks, who showed no signs of leaving. Instead, they formed a circle around the fire and knelt, raising their hands to the sky. Tears were flowing down the abbot's face, but there was joy in his voice as he prayed and led them in a song of faith.

The music made Merlin feel strange as he pulled back to the orchard. Had his magic just been used by their god? But then why had their god given up on the abbey and let it fall into other hands in the first place? At least there had been no bloodshed. Not this time, as there had been before on this very land. Always so much hatred; always so much blood. He was reminded of why he had pulled away again, why he lived his life in the deep and lovely woods.

Slowly Merlin's heart lifted again as returned home, taking in the beauty of his forest and the growth and change of a hundred years. He would one day return to the world of men.

Maybe.

But surely if ever his king did return...

* * *

Matthew woke with a jump, breathless, unsure of where he was and why he wasn't in a forest. It was a noise, a _thump_, that had woken him. His huge cup of water was on the floor, slowly spilling water. Had he done that? No. The tray table was pushed to the side, as it always was when he was asleep. He pushed the nurse's button with a sigh. He didn't want to wake Arthur up. After all, he'd never even seen him tired enough to sleep before. And he kinda' needed to have some privacy, anyway. Bathroom break.

Matthew felt an inordinate amount of pride in the fact that he made it to the bathroom and back to his bed without falling in the water puddle on the floor. It wasn't until he was back in his bed laying down and catching his breath that he remembered to wonder why the nurse hadn't answered his call. It was Tanya's shift and she should have been here right away. That bothered him.

Matthew took a deep breath. For the first time in days, he felt clear-headed and not crippled by pain. He didn't want more meds. He needed to think, to think hard about all the impossible things that had been coming at him since the night of the attack.

Despite himself, his mind was amassing a list of things that supported Arthur's claim, like the crazy ghost girl who claimed that Matthew's presence was upsetting things and who might be knocking things over and messing up the nurse call button because of it. He'd never seen a ghost before, but something about her had been so real and impossible to ignore.

There were more things to support Arthur's claim, like the impossible thing that attacked Matthew in the first place-a wendigo, which was a thing out of legend itself. If wendigos walked the earth, as seemed evidenced by the fact that there were further disappearances and mutilated, half-eaten bodies around Crystal River, then why couldn't King Arthur and Gwaine and Merlin all exist?

It was time to get more information.

Dread pooled in Matthew's gut as he grabbed the remote and paused. He might have dreamed Cricket's visit, or at least the news report part. With that hopeful thought, he turned on the t.v. It was tuned to a local channel, where a continued special report was underway, one that looked like something from a sci-fi channel original movie.

The blurry home video was shot through a window, filming in a neighborhood where what looked like several wendigos were running loose down the street, flipping cars and chasing people into their homes.

The news anchor was trying to calmly narrate the video, but it was obviously a struggle to stay coherent. "As you can see, these things are dangerous in the extreme. Do not approach one. Let me repeat, this is a live feed from downtown. Yes, it is live and we're hearing that this very scenario is taking place in multiple areas around the city."

Matthew watched, terror building in his chest until he thought he would suffocate.

Several police officers had appeared ahead of the wendigos and were blocking their path, trying to force a stand-off. When they opened fire, the beasts jerked and bellowed,angered into charging forward. They downed three officers with massive swings of their hairy arms before they could be hit with enough bullets to take them down. One of them charged the camera and ran into a window, smashing its head through the glass. There were screams and then the screen went blank. The t.v. feed switched back to the news anchor.

"Bullets...uh, don't have much effect on the creatures, as you've just seen here," the anchor said, speaking louder over the noise of several voices talking off-screen urgently, and an alarm of some kind in the background. "The mayor is urging everyone to stay in their homes. Do not seek to aid the police in their attempts to bring down the creatures. Stay inside, lock your doors and stay safe. The National Guard should be arriving within minutes."

Across the bottom of the screen scrolled a warning in red: _The creatures appear to be moving toward the downtown area. If you are in the downtown area-_

Matthew jerked when a shrill ring sounded in the room. It was Arthur's cell phone and he jumped to his feet, crying out, "No!" He looked around wildly, only stopping when he saw Matthew safe in the bed. Then he fumbled at his vest pocket, cursing under his breath. "Hate these damn things. Arthur here. What is it?" His gaze sought out Matthew's, a question in his eyes.

Matthew was too freaked out to give him any reassurance. Instead, he pointed weakly at the television.

Arthur frowned and moved closer, his gaze moving to take in the report, eyes widening.

Then Gwaine was slamming through the door.

"We have to leave now," Gwaine said to Arthur. "Get your clothes on," he said to Matthew.

Arthur was watching the report, but he answered the person on the phone. "I'm seeing it right now."

Matthew nodded to Gwaine and slipped out of bed. The person talking to Arthur had to be Matthew's mother. She must be frantic.

The news anchor was still talking. "The beasts, which we are now learning might be the elusive wendigos of Native American myth, seem to be converging on one area. The warning has gone out to anyone living in or around the downtown area, you are in direct danger."

"That's us, mate," Gwaine said as he tossed Matthew his jeans. "This hospital is right in the middle of downtown."

Matthew nodded grimly and grabbed hold of his i.v. With a grimace and a jerk, he pulled out the line that had been feeding him nutrients and painkillers.

"Ouch," Gwaine said with a sympathetic wince.

"We'll head north and call you when we're in a safe place," Arthur said into his phone, his voice tight and controlled. "Don't worry, we'll get him out." Arthur said as he flipped his phone shut.

"Would have been easier yesterday," Gwaine grumbled, stopping right beside Arthur. "I told you we needed to get him out."

Arthur cursed under his breath. He studied the map on the t.v. intently, showing another live shot of the creatures as they wound their way through the city streets. "You were right, Gwaine. My apologies. It looks like we're going to have to fight our way out of here," Arthur said, briefly clapping a hand on Gwaine's arm.

Gwaine grinned. "That's the only upside I can see."

"Matthew, get dressed," Arthur snapped, and Matthew jerked back to attention. He slipped his shirt on over his head, moving slower as his thoughts caught up. He grabbed his phone and typed in a quick note, handing it to Gwaine to read.

_Are those things coming for me?_

Arthur gave Matthew a piercing look before answering, then went back to fiddling with his phone. "Of course they are."

"Don't worry," Gwaine said, slapping Matthew on the back, "that's why we're here. Strength and Courage on tap. Once you get your magic figured out again, we'll be unstoppable."

Matthew wanted to argue the point again but his attention was caught again by the television.

The station had switched back to the news anchor's report, where the circumstances were a challenge to his professional detachment. The anchor's tie was askew and he appeared to be sweating profusely. "The downtown area includes your local broadcasting station here and we are busy making preparations. As you can see behind me, our windows are being shuttered and our lights will shortly be dimmed. You do not want to call attention to yourself. Stay inside and do not seek to engage the creatures. They are dangerous."

Matthew heat in his chest again, and an uncomfortable sensation like ants crawling all over him. If those things were after him, it didn't matter where he went, right? The wendigos would follow. He gritted his teeth. Suddenly he was glad Cricket had left him; he hoped she was already safely on a flight out of town.

"We'll use this," Arthur said, grabbing Matthew's backpack and dumping all of his school things all over the bed. The heat in Matthew's chest twisted into anger.

He slammed his palm on the tray table in protest. _No!_ he signed.

"We take only the necessities," Arthur snapped. "Now get your shoes on or I'll carry you out of here."

Matthew went stiff with fury. _I am not a child!_ he signed.

"Stop that!" Arthur said, stepped closer. "I swore to protect you. Now do as I say." Their eyes locked for a long moment and Matthew saw desperation warring with resolve in Arthur's eyes.

Gwaine watched them. "Mate. You can't just order him around like that. He's _Merlin._ Even worse, he's American."

A siren broke the moment into bits and the moment was broken.

Gwaine cursed. "A warning, like the bells at the castle."

"We're out of time," Arthur concluded.

Matthew's fury fled and he dropped into the chair to put on his shoes. What was he even thinking? He wasn't mad at Arthur; he was mad at those hellish things for hunting him down like a...a...

"Matthew's mother said there was a GPS or something on here that would help us map our way out." Arthur was tapping at his phone.

Matthew grabbed the phone from him, navigated through the menus and found the map app, then handed it back to a surprised Arthur.

"Thank you."

Matthew eyed him a moment and then nodded in return.

Outside the door, the sounds from the hospital had slowly gotten louder without Matthew noticing. But when Tanya entered the room, Matthew could hear clear sounds of panic in the hallway.

"Good, you're already up, Matthew," she said, her usual placid pace replaced by brisk, decisive movements. "We're moving everyone into to the storm shelters. All you'll need is your..." she trailed off as she took in the bed covered in school supplies, the full bag in Gwaine's hand and the guilt in Matthew's expression. One hand went to her hip as she narrowed her eyes at them. "And just where do you think you're going?"

"We're heading-"

"I don't think so," she interrupted Arthur, holding up a single index finger. "Are you crazy? Did you not hear that siren? He is _my_ patient and he has _not_ recovered sufficiently to handle what is going on out there! _No one_ can handle what's going on out there!"

Arthur took a deep breath and something in him...shifted. Matthew took a step back, shocked at how Arthur suddenly became...more, as if the breath he had pulled in was from another time and another place. "Listen carefully because what I am going to tell you is the truth, even if it sounds...crazy. These monsters are the reason we are here in the first place. They are hunting Matthew. They're converging on this point simply because he is here. It is in your best interest to release him."

Tanya's eyebrows shot up so high they crawled up under her bangs, but her expression said that she was not impressed. "Excuse me? Did I not make myself plain?" She shifted her significant girth. "Let me put it you more clearly. There is no way some smooth-talking, white, Prince William-wanna-be is going to come in here and tell me how to protect my patient from whatever the he-ell those things are!"

"Now." She walked over and took hold of Matthew's arm. "_We_ are heading to the storm shelter. _You_ are welcome to go fight them big ol' mamma-jammas outside on yo' own."

But Arthur was not done. He took in another breath and this time, all the light in the room seemed to pull to his side. His hair glowed, his eyes shone clear cobalt blue and his countenance was radiant with nobility. When he spoke, his voice was deep and stately and it echoed through the room, drowning all sound from outside.

"I am not who you think I am. He is not who you think he is. Trust me when I say that I will protect him. I am Arthur, the Once and Future King, and his life is more precious to me than my own."

There was complete silence in the room as the light dispersed and Arthur's glory slowly melted away. Matthew was surprised to find himself on his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Tanya was on her knees beside him, her eyes wide and her face filled with wonder.

"King Arthur? In my hospital? My...God...I didn't even know. I can't even..."

Arthur looked disconcerted and moved quickly over to help her off her knees. He then extended a hand to Matthew, who was having a hard time meeting his eyes. "We must leave now. Do you understand?"

Tanya nodded, her eyes adoring. "Oh, absolutely, baby. I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time. You know how I am. Sometimes I get all mama bear about my patients, especially when they're this sweet." She gave Matthew a side hug. "You'll take good care of him. I know that."

She moved to the door as Gwaine patted Matthew on the shoulder. "He doesn't do that often, mate. Don't worry."

Tanya paused at the door and turned to look at them one more time. "Imagine that. King Arthur himself." She hummed in disbelief, smiled and moved out the door and into the chaos in the hallway.

Arthur had already moved to the window, pulling on his brown leather gloves. He looked out, eyes roving over the scenery. "East is this direction. Gwaine?"

Gwaine held up the bag, packed with Matthew's things. "Let's rock and roll."

"What?" Arthur stared at him.

"That's American for 'let's go.'" Matthew would have rolled his eyes, but he was still feeling off-balance after...whatever it was that Arthur had just done. It was impossible to not add spontaneous, magical kingliness it to the list proving the Merlin hypothesis. _Damnit_.

Arthur, after giving Gwaine a decided frown, led the way out the door and turned right into the hallway. Already, the hallway was emptying out as patients, visitors and nurses gathered in the storm shelters in the center of the hospital's walls.

Matthew gripped the shoulder straps of his backpack and tried to turn off his brain again. What Arthur had just done...what he had briefly turned into...well. Matthew couldn't think about that right now. Right now, they had to escape with their lives. To that end, he needed to stay alert and stay with Arthur and Gwaine.

Which was actually harder than it looked. Matthew was already breathing hard. Laying around in a hospital had not done wonders for his stamina. Arthur, on the other hand, led the way and it was obvious from his efficient movements that he was comfortable with danger. Or, actually, thrived in it. Matthew watched as Arthur edged open the door and checked the parking lot.

How does one go about making sure the path is safe from mythological monsters? Making sure nothing is flying around in the air would be a good start. Then listening for roars...

Arthur gestured and slipped out the door.

"That means go," Gwaine said, his now-gloved hand on Matthew's shoulder. Matthew nodded and moved forward, his blood spiking with adrenaline as soon as the doors of the hospital fell shut behind him. He felt vulnerable out here, like the goat on a chain outside the T-rex paddock in _Jurassic Park._

Beside him, Gwaine paused and reached behind a tall, potted tree. He jerked at something and pulled two swords from their hiding spot. One, he shoved in the scabbard looped onto his belt. The other...

"Arthur," he said and held up the sword.

Time seemed to stop as Matthew stared. The high shine of silver gave way to gold in the center, and the edge was lined in flowing type of some kind. To Matthew's shock, Arthur held his hand up and the sword just...pulled away from Gwaine and landed in Arthur's hand with a loud thunk. Arthur moved forward without hesitation, giving just one glance and a smirk at Matthew.

Matthew was frozen, gaping.

"What's the matter," Gwaine said to him, grinning, "never seen a magic sword before?

Excalibur. Pretty famous, yeah? Got pulled out of a stone and everything."

"You're falling behind. Stop babbling," Arthur barked at Gwaine.

Matthew closed his mouth and followed Arthur while Gwaine once again took the rear

position. There were a few scattered cars screeching out of the parking lot in a rush, but no signs of the beasts yet.

Matthew's eyes were drawn back to Arthur's sword. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Why wouldn't someone claiming to be King Arthur have a sword named Excalibur?

A volley of shots rang out from behind them and Matthew whipped around, trying in vain

to find the source.

"From the other side," Gwaine called out, "move faster!"

Arthur reached back to grab Matthew and began to run, finally dropping his arm as they encountered the last double row of cars and began winding their way in-between. More shots and shouting came from their right. There was a large parking garage ahead that looked shadowy and creepy and Matthew really hoped that they were going to avoid.

"Head left," Arthur said in a low voice.

"But won't the ones on the right be more likely to be dead?" Gwaine hissed from behind.

Matthew found himself nodding.

"At this point, we don't know that there are any on the left. We do know there are some on the right. Ergo, we head left."

"Ah, but we _do_ know there are some on the left."

Arthur speared Gwaine with a glance. "And just how to do we know that?"

"'Cause I'm lookin' at them," he said quietly.

Matthew's head snapped to the side just in time to see two of the beasts emerging from the neighborhood on the left. They slowed as they entered the parking lot, and moved their heads from side to side, sniffing at the wind. The taller one bent in their direction, its mongrel face screwed up in concentration. Then a spike of energy seemed to go through him, arching its back and sending a savage howl from his mouth.

Matthew jerked as answering howls came from all around.

"Bloody pack animals?" Gwaine asks, cursing as he propels Matthew to keep moving.

"It's simple," Arthur says counterintuitively. "I take one, you take the other. Then we get to the car however we can."

"I'll drive," Gwaine offered, looking wounded when Arthur snorted. "What? I'm a great driver!"

"Yes, but we'll want to avoid crashing into other cars," Arthur said, eyes on the coming attack. "Driving will be your job, Matthew. You do drive, correct?" Matthew nodded, his horror mounting as both the wendigos loped in their direction. He found himself grabbing on to Arthur's jacket and digging in, that feeling of hundreds of ants moving under his skin too strong for comfort. He wished he could do something other than panic.

But fear didn't even seem to enter Arthur's mind as pulled away from Matthew and climbed on the back of a '65 Mustang and over the top. Just as he reached the hood, the first creature was on him, swiping at him with one long, sinewy arm. Arthur met the swipe with a swing of his sword, and the creature was suddenly minus one arm. Enraged, it swung its other arm and promptly lost that as well. It leaned forward, slavering, jaw gaping to chomp off a bite of Arthur, but then its mouth was full of Excalibur and its brain was skewered and it was too dead to do anything else.

Matthew was still registering the cool merciless nature of Arthur's attack when the second wendigo reached Gwaine. It howled and raised both of its arms over its head, and Gwaine skewered it through the midsection. The creature stilled and blinked its round, black eyes in something like surprise. Then it ignored the weapon and attacked anyway, sending Gwaine flying.

Matthew scampered behind another car. Suddenly, Arthur was there, inserting himself between the wounded wendigo and Matthew. With one swipe, he sliced through the creature's chest, adding another gaping wound that made it falter and sink to its knees. One more swing of the sword and the creature was gone.

Arthur turned to Matthew, gore and fur clinging to him. "Let's go!" He wiped at his mouth, smearing it with blood, before helping Matthew get Gwaine up. "You all right?"

Gwaine nodded, but his run was a bit unsteady and Matthew worried about him. The wendigo had hit him like a freight train. They were so strong, and smelled so nasty. Matthew shuddered.

"The car is this way," Arthur yelled as he sprinted into the neighborhood. Apparently, parking had been sparse. Behind them, there were more shots and a long, drawn-out scream. Gwaine cursed.

"There it is." Arthur sprinted a few houses down and Matthew followed him, breathing like he had pneumonia. His ribs were hurting again.

A howl behind them gave them fair warning. Then, there were shouts, more gunfire and the sound of bodies impacting cars. Matthew sucked in air as quickly as he could and then he was collapsing against the beat-up station wagon Gwaine had claimed as theirs.

"Get in!" Arthur said, tossing him the keys.

Now this, Matthew could do. He opened the door, slid behind the wheel and started the car while the other two waited in the road, standing guard. Though the body of the car was pretty beat-up and atrociously avocado in color, the engine purred and Matthew felt a quiver of excitement. He pulled out, then put it in reverse and backed up with a screech of tires.

Rolling down the window, he banged on the hood of the car to get their attention. The wendigos had just cleared the parking lot and were loping toward them. Gwaine and Arthur dove in, shouting furiously and Matthew took off while they were still shutting their doors.

The pack of wendigos was only ten yards back, despite a small army of police and soldiers firing at them with every step. They seemed to be slowing down.

Matthew swerved a car in the middle of the road and saw a blur come at him from a side street. He slammed on the brakes, throwing out his arm to keep Arthur from plastering his face against the windshield. Arthur cursed and they both found themselves staring down a wendigo.

It stared back at them, head cocked.

"Why isn't it attacking?" Gwaine asked.

"I don't think it can smell us in here," Arthur said in a low voice. Matthew was still shaking slightly, adrenaline rushing through his veins as the creature raised its arms and slammed them down on the hood of the car, roaring. Matthew put the car in reverse and, after a moment the creature followed. _Damn._

"Don't want to go this way, mate. They're almost here," Gwaine warned.

Matthew slammed to a stop and put the car in first, turning the wheel sharply to go around the creature. The back wheels spun before gripping the road and propelling them forward. The car lurched to the side of the creature before running over one its prominent feet.

They sped down the road, grins breaking over their faces at the sight of a wendigo hopping around on one foot and holding the other. In another moment, several more of the creatures had appeared, circling around the injured one, looking confused.

"Why aren't they following?" Gwaine asked.

"I think it's because Matthew's in the vehicle, closed off where his scent can't get picked up as well," Arthur said. "I'm beginning to like these...cars, even if they are incredibly noisy and ugly." Matthew sent him a disparaging look. "Don't look at me like that. One day you'll remember what it was like to ride a horse everywhere and you'll understand." Arthur's glance had turned fond and Matthew looked away, back to the road. He risked one more look at the would-be king and caught his eye.

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

Matthew gestured at his forehead. He'd tried to stop Arthur from hitting the windshield, but hadn't been completely successful.

"I'm fine. Just a bump. Keep your eyes on the road."

After a few more minutes on the road, Matthew showed them how to put on their seat belts, but had to settle for only Arthur putting one on. Gwaine refused on the grounds that he was a grown man and didn't need "restraining straps". Matthew was tempted to stomp on the brakes again now that the man had settled himself to lean in between the two front seats to look ahead. He resisted the temptation.

Once again, he gave Arthur a look, and was surprised by how quickly he could communicate his question without hands or words.

"Where are we going?" Arthur interpreted correctly, to Matthew's surprise. "To see a friend, or well, the descendant of a friend."

"You found him?" Gwaine asked in surprise.

Arthur cocked his head. "It doesn't seem likely, does it? Maybe magic is on our side."

"Percival. Remember him at all?" Gwaine's eyes were piercing where they caught Matthew's in the rearview mirror. Large bloke? Big heart? No? Well, you knew him and served his great-great-great-whatsit-or-other for much of his life. Kept him alive. Thought you'd be glad to know that his line survived even after you went back into the woods for a while. His descendents, though they don't outnumber mine by a long shot, well, they're still around, only here in America instead of Australia."

"Australia?" Arthur asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Where else would my people live? Whole country full of criminals and free spirits, at least it was when it started."

"That actually makes perfect sense," Arthur said. "I think I've got the address locked in on this ithing," handing the phone to Matthew. "Just follow that map."


	7. Connection

It was only a two-and-a-half hour drive to Jacksonville, where this descendent of Percival's just happened to live. Matthew's doubtful look earned him an explanation from Arthur.

"Freya, the Lady of the Lake-no, I won't explain her, I can't-told us he lived somewhere in the southeast part of the States. Turns out that he moved here to Florida two years ago, just after you started college in Crystal River. Freya's guess was likely correct, that your magic drew him close by just as it is also drawing everything else."

"Which is why the most important part of our plan is to keep moving," Gwaine said with a grin, "and carry loads of weaponry." With the half-dried splash of wendigo blood across his chin and neck, he looked slightly crazed.

Matthew shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Was this really all because of him? The guilt was becoming overwhelming, even though it was over something he didn't understand, or completely believe in. Wouldn't he know it if he putting out some kind of magic GPS beacon?

Matthew's mother was relieved when Arthur called to let her know of their escape. In return, she had given them news of the battle with the wendigos. Final count: twenty-three people had been injured, four killed. Thirty wendigos had been taken out; none had escaped. She wanted to wire them money, but Arthur refused it. She took that, as she had everything else, so much easier than Matthew would have expected.

"Turn off here. I can't stand this stench any longer," Arthur snapped a few minutes later, indicating the blood and gore from the wendigos drying on his clothing.

Matthew was relieved to obey. The car was filling up with stink. As the men went to clean up in the restrooms, Matthew vacated the car and opened all the doors, hoping the fresh air would do some good. Wendigos smelled like ten skunks dipped in a vat of rancid fish entrails. He sincerely hoped they were all dead.

The gas station they had stopped at, a small one with a local sign, "Randy's", was set in front of a picturesque grove of orange trees. Matthew stretched to release the tension in his back and leaned back against the warm side of the car. He gazed at the beautiful green of the trees ahead, but his thoughts sank instantly. Four people had died during the wendigo attack. Had they had families? Kids? What if had been one of his nurses?What if he'd left behind a smell they could follow right to them? Then Tanya would be in the most danger.

Matthew banged a fist against the car and tried to keep breathing through the tightness in his chest. There was no _reason_ for all of this! He hadn't asked anyone to help him, to save him. They should have just-

"You all right?" Gwaine asked as he approached. He had changed shirts and scrubbed away most of the blood and gore.

Matthew blinked a few times and tried to calm his breathing. He nodded and was glad, for the moment, that he couldn't babble all those things he'd just had running through his head. Gwaine and Arthur were helping him. They didn't need to hear him being sorry for himself and raging against...all of this.

"Let's go," Arthur said, taking shotgun again.

"Once a princess, always a princess," Gwaine sighed and got in the back seat.

Matthew raised an eyebrow at Arthur, but the man didn't explain. Princess? He was eventually going to get _that_ story out of Gwaine.

Jacksonville was as overwhelming as Matthew expected it to be. With almost 900,000 residents spread out over the largest area of any U.S. city, once you were in, it seemed determined to keep you there. The city went on and on. Traffic moved fast and it was difficult to follow the directions of the GPS as lane after lane of traffic folded into and out of theirs.

Matthew, who'd grown up in a small town, felt bullied by all the cars on his bumper and cutting rudely in front of him.

"I should be driving," Gwaine kept saying.

Arthur watched the cars swerve and speed around them. "You could go faster, Matthew."

Matthew made a rude noise. Two more cars cut in front of them.

"I really _should_ be driving."

But after several mis-exits and misdirections, they found themselves in the right suburb-a place called Arlington. The GPS led them along the east bank of the St. Johns River, a very picturesque drive lined with palm trees and mossy oaks.

"Nearly there, Matthew," Arthur said quietly, seeming to read Matthew's exhaustion without any trouble. Matthew nodded. His head was throbbing and his body ached in weird places.

"Just think, you could have been stretched out in the back seat this whole time while I drove circles around these miscreants," Gwaine put in. "So, looks like we take the next right. Well done. More aqua, pink and yellow houses ahead. Lovely. Now we just find the right numbers on the curb."

Matthew nodded and eased up in front of a long, winding driveway with the number 608 on tan brickwork beside an open gate.

"Drive up the lane and we'll knock at the door. They're expecting us." Arthur had been texting away during the drive; he must have been warning them ahead. Matthew wasn't sure how he felt about this, but he pulled up anyway.

The curve of the drive was lined with oaks and shrubbery that blocked the house from view until you could no longer see the road. Then a stately mansion appeared, a dark brick Tudor home with a steeply pitched gable roof, a rounded arch entranceway and an exterior stone chimney that split the front view neatly in half.

"Finally. Now there's a house I like," Arthur said as he got out of the car and smiled.

"You mean the flat roofs and pastel colors don't do it for you?" Gwaine asked. "This is definitely a nice place. Percy's folks did well for themselves."

Matthew pulled out his phone to answer the latest text from his mom, asking for the address of the house. He texted it to her, adding that they might be spending a few extra hours here, resting as Arthur had promised.

As he finished up, Arthur opened the driver's door and offered him a hand up. Matthew was surprised to find that he truly needed help to simply stand. Overwhelmed by the effect of all the excitement on his healing body, he hardly noticed as they were welcomed inside and set down with a dinner of ham and swiss sandwiches, chips and lemonade. As soon as he was done, he flopped his head down on his arms and fell fast asleep.

* * *

Arthur had mostly gotten used to sandwiches and soft drinks since his return, but could not abide the things Gwaine munched on continuously-potato chips. To keep him from downing his weight in the things, Arthur sent Gwaine to check out the house's defenses. If his hunch was correct, they would be more formidable than they appeared. That was good, on the off chance that there was another attack.

Arthur stretched and stood, walking over to the window, basking in the still quiet of the house around him. The view to the rear of the house was quite stunning. Artful landscaping divided the lawn below with neatly placed rows of large, flowering bushes and trees, sectioning off different areas for seating or cooking outdoors. One area held a brick contraption that looked to be a grill used for cooking meat. Clever design. Beyond the yard lay a fenced-in court of some kind, with a net and markings that surely meant it for sport of some kind.

Farther beyond that lay a wide swath of the very blue St. Johns River and a spectacular view of Jacksonville's downtown skyline. Buildings of that proportion still seemed a miracle to Arthur, and the enormous bridge that allowed cars to cross the river was even more stunning. How had mankind come so far in many ways and yet failed in so many others? When Arthur thought of the history Merlin had lived through-the wars, the plagues-it made him literally sick to his stomach. He'd finally asked Gwaine to tell him no more about it. If he heard any more stories, he wanted them to be from Merlin's own lips.

Arthur turned back and glanced at Matthew, still napping at the table, his skinny, ridiculous elbows poking out from under the mass of messy black almost-curls. Merlin had never worn his hair that long, but Arthur had grown used to it. In fact, he rather liked it, as it hid more of his ridiculous ears. Once Merlin was Merlin again, perhaps he might be persuaded to leave it.

Arthur snorted and crossed to the window set-in the back door of the kitchen. He could only imagine how amused Merlin would be at his thoughts. This view here was more narrow, just a pathway to the garage. Nothing dangerous there. He idly wondered where Gwaine was now. It had been very quiet without him.

As Arthur was turning back, he caught a flash in the window and jerked to a halt. There was nothing there, though he studied the view intently. No, nothing. Arthur moved away, feeling unsettled.

The figure he'd seen...it had looked like something, well, someone, from a dream he'd been having on and off almost every time he slept, which, admittedly, wasn't very much; sleep had deserted him lately. Arthur would go twenty-four or twenty-eight hours before tiring and then only sleep an hour or two before feeling recharged. It was handy for keeping watch, but it left his brain to percolate too long over things.

Like haircuts.

This was not the time nor place for topics of that sort. First he had to keep Merlin safe and then find a way to bring him back to himself. Hopefully, that would lead to Merlin finding his voice, even if it was only to scream at Arthur for staying away for so long. Then they would have that hug Merlin had always been nattering on about and then, plenty of time for discussions about silly things like hair and potato chips and what exactly to do with a eternal life once you've gotten it.

There was a shuffle of footsteps outside and then Gwaine was at the door, whistling his way inside. "House is as safe as castles once the doors are locked. Bars over the windows, Steel plate over the doors. Nothing can get in. It's almost like they knew what was coming."

Arthur nodded. "Well done."

"Cheers," Gwaine said as he grabbed another handful of chips, much to Arthur's disgust.

Just then, the housekeeper, Rosetta, entered and frowned at them. She was a sweet-natured Hispanic woman with large, brown eyes and graying brown hair who had done Arthur the huge favor of disliking Gwaine on sight. "Dr. Driscoll has just arrived and he'll be wanting to talk as soon as he walks through the door. Wake your young friend there and you can move into the study. No. No more chips for you! Rápido!"

Arthur reluctantly shook Merlin awake, and forced himself to accept his friend's silence and his new name once more. Not hearing Merlin speak was more grating than he could have predicted. He'd had no idea how much of their friendship had been based on the words they exchanged, the jibes, the insults, the low confessions of faith and belief.

Matthew stumbled blearily along to the restroom, excusing himself with a wave and a sheepish look that was so _Merlin_ that Arthur found himself smiling. His friend was in there somewhere.

They heard a voice in the other room, brisk footsteps, and then a man was entering the study. Gwaine and Arthur stood to greet him and the man closed his cell phone with a snap.

"I'm Dr. Driscoll, Henry if you'd like, and you are welcome to my home." Arthur shook the man's hand firmly, his gaze taking in the man's conservative suit, neatly-combed hair, and enormous, drooping mustache. His brown eyes looked lively and receptive, the kind of man who might actually be ready for the story he was about to hear.

"Arthur. Arthur Pendragon," Arthur said with a nod and a smile, and the man's steady gaze faltered.

"That's...quite a coincidence," Dr. Driscoll said, tugging at his mustache. "And your friend is?"

"Gwaine," the knight said simply as he reached for the man's hand.

Dr. Driscoll shook his hand even more slowly, then paused. "Have a seat," he gestured to the couches and sat behind his desk. Leaning back, he studied them before speaking. "Are you aware that I am one of the foremost Arthurian scholars in the country?"

Arthur couldn't help but smile. "Yes, I was. As well as being an enthusiast of the study of magic in all forms, which is more to the point."

"Interesting. And you say that you are actually named Arthur Pendragon? Well. How did you come by that name? Did you have it changed? Read it in a book or three or four, perhaps?" The man's gaze bore into Arthur's own.

"It was given me by my parents."

"And they were?"

"Igraine de Bois and Uther Pendragon."

The scholar blinked several times, then stood. Then sat down again, all without saying a word. He seemed to be coming to some conclusion all on his own. "Are you saying, sir, what I think you're saying?"

Arthur stood. "I am claiming nothing. I am simply a man in need of assistance. Our families meant something to each other once, long ago, and I find myself nearly friendless in a strange land. Can I count on your support?"

Gwaine rolled his eyes at Arthur, but the scholar seemed touched. Again he was quiet and seemed to wrestle with things unseen. "Where did you just come from?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Crystal River."

The scholar's eyes lit up. "Then the monsters, the wendigos..."

"Yes."

Gwaine was looking between the two of them, realizing there was a lot going unsaid here. "That's right. And you haven't even met Merlin yet."

"Merlin?" Dr. Driscoll's eyebrows raised up and his face looked ten years younger. "_The_ Merlin? Is he here?"

Sheepish footsteps in the doorway let everyone know that Matthew hadn't been far away. He walked in with his shoulders bowed, his expression murderous. He made the, by now, familiar hand gestures that Gwaine was able to interpret. "He says no, he's not Merlin. His name is Matthew. It's a long story."

"Ah. Reincarnation?"

"Not exactly," Gwaine began, but the scholar interrupted him.

"Yes, well, if you'll excuse me, I must make a phone call. Please, stay put and my sister-in-law will come right over. I'll want someone to back me up."

"Back you up."

"Well, I wouldn't want to go around making claims without someone agreeing with me. If I may be excused, your majesty?" The twinkle in the man's eyes was half-manic, half-gleeful.

"Of course," Arthur granted with a slight incline of his head.

The man left muttering to himself.

Matthew huffed out a breath and gestured wildly to Arthur, which both of his friends interpreted correctly as _What the hell?_

"We'll need help to figure out how to proceed from here. I assure you, Matthew, that I am completely out of my depth in this situation. How can I keep you safe if I have no idea what is hunting you?" By this point, Matthew was typing on his phone wildly and Gwaine leaned over his shoulder to read it.

"He says, '_And this guy is an expert?'_"

"As much of one as I'm expecting to find in this day and age."

"He's right, mate," Gwaine said, clapping a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "It looks like this guy believes us, which puts him head and shoulders above most of the country. He fed us and he's got enough room for us to pack it in for a night. Plus, he knows stuff. We can rest, eat and do research at the same time."

Matthew threw up his hands. It wasn't as though he had some vested interest in leaving. He sat back in the couch and sent a hand ghosting over his right hipbone where the creature's talons had done the most damage. The skin on the outside had healed well, but the inside was tender and aching. He tried to ignore Arthur and Gwaine as they discussed tactics, magic and what help they could expect from Dr. Driscoll. Right now, Matthew didn't care what help they got as long as it involved a bed and a shower at some point.

He was just starting to nod off again when there were noises at the back door. Arthur stood, hand at his sword. Then Gwaine walked in, casual as always. "He's back and he's got a lady with him."

Arthur nodded and relaxed his stance. His gaze strayed to Matthew, who had slunk far down in the couch and was comfortable that way. Arthur gestured, but Matthew stayed where he was. He did not approve of telling these people that he was _the_ Merlin.

"Ah, gentleman, let me present my sister-in-law, Sister Tabitha."

The professor gestured to the woman beside him, a lady of unclear age who echoed the

scholar in stance and hair color, but had a mobile face with exaggerated features easily given to

emotion. She was dressed in the style of a gypsy, which was not surprising given her name.

"How nice...to...," she began, then stopped and gasped, and a shudder went through her entire body. Staring at Arthur, her eyes filled with tears. "Oh...your aura. It's...it's...so beautiful. I've never, never seen one like it. Are you...?"

"Then it is truly him," Dr. Driscoll said, in a choking voice. "The Once and Future King."

"Yes! I can see it! I can't...oh, your majesty," she half-sobbed, then fell to her knees, "you've returned!"

Arthur was shocked, but no less so when Dr. Driscoll did the same thing. "Your majesty," he said as he bowed his head. "I only waited to be sure. We will help you in any way we can."

Tabitha lifted her head and fixed shining eyes on Arthur. "Please. Can we help you, sire?

Emotion clouded Arthur's mind for a breath-stealing moment. "Thank you. Please. Rise. I am...moved that you recognize me. Here I am in a new time, a new place, and I have only one knight by my side-Sir Gwaine." Tabitha and Dr. Driscoll nodded to Gwaine.

"At your service," Gwaine said with a courtly bow and a roguish wink to Tabitha.

"I have returned to aid my servant, who mind has been lost due to the ravages of time. Returning him to his own mind and to his own place is of vital importance."

"Of course." Dr. Driscoll was almost vibrating with excitement. "And this servant would be Merlin, the one whose welfare calls his king back from the beyond?"

Gwaine raised his eyebrows, but Arthur managed to keep his expression serious. "Yes. His name is Merlin, though he goes by the name of Matthew in this time. Matthew?" All eyes went to the slouched form on the couch.

* * *

Matthew had been thrown by Tabitha's reaction to Arthur and by their sudden acceptance of Arthur's identity. He had sunk deeply into the brown leather couch and was glad to be overlooked until now. Reluctantly, he slid off the sofa and turned to face the two of them, bracing himself. But he was completely unprepared for what came next.

Tabitha's face contorted in horror and she covered her mouth with both hands. Matthew threw Arthur a questioning look, but he looked just as puzzled. Dr. Driscoll moved to her side.

"Tabitha?"

She finally found her voice, tremulous though it was. "What have they done to you? Your aura..." She moved forward, one hand lifted as if to touch him and then froze, shaking her head from side to side. "They've twisted it. Bound it. How can you stand it?"

"It's okay," Dr. Driscoll soothed her.

"No, it's not," she said, pushing him away. "And there's something else." Her voice deepened as she stepped forward. "Someone has a connection to your aura." She lifted a hand to the air around Matthew. He tried to stand still. Arthur moved closer, only a step away now.

"What do you mean by connection," Arthur asked her quietly.

"Someone has been leeching power from him. Magic. It floats here along this path," she waved one hand through the air away from Matthew, "and goes somewhere, _to_ someone."

Matthew watched Gwaine and Arthur exchange looks.

"To whom?" Arthur said more loudly.

Sister Tabitha frowned. "It's not easy to see. It's so far away. I'll try." She faced Matthew again and stepped closer, grimacing slightly. "I'm sorry. Your aura is beautiful, or it would be, if it weren't so...tortured." She looked up at him and focused on his temple. "It's there, the beginning of the connection. I can see it. It's old. It was made a long time ago."

"And you can see all of this?" Dr. Driscoll breathed out.

"Oh yes, it's...so sad," she whispered. "And then this..._wait_...this bit is leaking, going somewhere right now." Her hand floated along, following the path in the air. "It's being pulled by someone." Her eyes closed and she turned slightly away from Matthew.

Matthew closed his eyes, too, becoming aware of a sharp, small pain in his head, just where Tabitha had said. There was a pull, too, there...a dragging of some kind. He felt it now, and was aware that it had always been there, at least as long as he could remember. Wasn't it something of an anchor, tying him to the earth, or-

He flushed. Did _everyone_ not have that feeling?

"At the other end...someone is there."

Matthew's eyes snapped open. Arthur's face grew pale as Tabitha continued, "...a woman? Yes, a...a gray woman. And she wants...oh, she is evil! And she wants...no. _No!"_

With a sudden cry, she shoved both hands forward and grasped at the air behind Matthew. He jerked once, twice and his knees folded. Arthur caught and steadied him before he could fall to the floor.

"I did it. I did it," Tabitha whispered before she, too, collapsed into her brother's arms.

"Tabitha?" Dr. Driscoll asked, concerned.

"I did it," she repeated, "I stopped her." Then she reached out to Matthew. "But it won't last long. She's coming for you. You must be ready." When she faded further, Dr. Driscoll carried her to the couch, calling for Rosetta.

"This has happened before," Dr. Driscoll said breathlessly to the others. "She's one of the few genuine psychics I know of, and she's tremendously sensitive to the planes of magic. You can take her words for the truth."

Matthew was only half-cognizant of those words, or of Gwaine coming closer to Arthur and the heated discussion that began only steps away. His awareness had shrunk to himself and all that he hadn't noticed before.

That place, where the "anchor" had been and where it had been ripped away...there was something there. How had he never noticed? Matthew gasped and fell to his knees. Touching it with his mind was like trying to probe a black hole-a sucking, screaming darkness that wanted to swallow him whole. A tremor went through his whole body.

Arthur knelt before him, saying something that Matthew couldn't hear. Matthew reached to him and Arthur's eyes widened.

"Merlin?" he gasped.

Then Gwaine was there, too, staring into his eyes, "Bloody hell. Is he doing magic?"

_Magic?_

That feeling had come back, of ants crawling under his skin. The heat that had so often filled his chest was now seeping up into his eyes. They were warm and everything around him had a golden haze.

Arthur helped him to stand, all the while staring deeply into his eyes.

Matthew pushed him away, searching inside, feeling desperate. Did this mean he was everything they said? A legend? Magic? Then what was wrong with him? Why did he feel like he was drowning? Determined, he found that place again and pushed at it. A surge of pain shuddered through him, leaving him shaking. Was it magic? Then why did it hurt?

He shoved at it again in frustration and that energy returned to him in pure agony. It filled him up, left him gasping on the floor and waiting for the world to return in noise and color again.

Arthur and Gwaine were over him, concern on their faces, but he pushed them away again. What if it were all true? What if that power was his own, tied down and forced to keep quiet when all it wanted to do was...was..._what?_ What could it do? Matthew looked up and found Arthur still watching him.

"Merlin?" he asked tentatively.

Matthew closed down and looked away, shaking his head. He wasn't Merlin. But if he could find the courage to try to face that darkness within himself, he just might find that he was. Matthew's face crumpled.

Gwaine put an arm around his shoulders. "This all right?"

Matthew swallowed hard and nodded, wiping at the tears as quickly as he could. He managed to nod when Gwaine whispered helpful things like, "We're right here with you, mate. Don't panic. You're not on your own, not by a long shot."

After all the excitement, Dr. Driscoll insisted that they stay the night, no matter the danger, honoring him with their presence. "Rosetta's already readied the guest rooms, so please, no arguments."

Gwaine took Merlin upstairs to help him get into bed, while Rosetta made Tabitha more comfortable in her favorite room-the sunroom, which featured a beautiful view of sunrise every morning.

Arthur found himself seated at the kitchen table with Dr. Driscoll, cozily sipping something amazing called hot chocolate.

"It's usually served in colder weather, but Tabitha says it's good for recharging psychic and emotional energy when it's been used up. She asked Rosetta to send several up to Matthew before he sleeps."

"Dr. Driscoll," Arthur began.

"Call me Henry, please," Dr. Driscoll interrupted.

"Thank you, Henry. Can you explain to me what an aura is?"

"Oh, forgive me. I should have realized. It is, perhaps, a modern concept. An aura is a visual perception of another's life force or personal energy. Most people cannot see them, but those who can say that they are unique to each person and broadcast one's inner character. Tabitha said that yours, Arthur, is a divine and burnished silver that proves your nobility and strength."

"What did she say about Matthew, about what she saw?" Arthur asked.

"That he has the most radiant aura, golden and pure and more magic than any she's ever had the pleasure to see. But that makes it all the more painful to see it damaged and restrained."

Arthur thought a moment, sensing that this wasn't something he would be able to truly understand. "But she was able to help him in some way?"

The professor leaned over the table, his eyes narrowing. "Are you certain you can trust Matthew?"

Arthur frowned. "Why do you ask?"

"He had a connection to this evil woman. That does not shake your faith in him?"

"No. He was completely unaware of it. And...the circumstances leading up to his presence in America here are difficult to explain. Suffice it to say that he is lost and a bit misinformed. But his heart is the same as it ever was, as I guess, his aura testifies." Arthur raised his eyebrows.

Dr. Driscoll nodded and leaned back. "Yes, true. Very true. Tabitha did say that she was able to sever the connection to that woman. It should do him some good, but you should be aware that the repercussions of that act could be...far-reaching."

"You mean she might become desperate and decide to send something even more harmful than the creatures she sent last time."

Dr. Driscoll's eyes lit up. "Yes. The wendigos. The impossible becoming possible. I said that very thing yesterday to my students, that if the impossible was becoming possible, then we should keep our eyes open to see what becomes possible next."

"Indeed. Where magic is concerned, it seems there is very little that is not possible."

"This woman," Dr. Driscoll asked, "do you know who she is? Have you met her?"

"No," although Arthur's mind went straight to the dream he'd had of a gray lady, "but it seems more and more likely that this woman is the reason I was brought back, to prevent her from taking Merlin's power and using it for her own ends." Arthur fiddled with his empty mug. "He is more powerful than you can comprehend, more dangerous than any force you can name. The only thing that protects this world from that power is the goodness of his heart. If someone evil were to take that power from him, then the world would be theirs."

Dr. Driscoll shook his head. "A horrible thought. You must do all you can to protect him until he regains his memories and discovers the way to free his aura. Please, let me hasten to add that you have only to ask and I will do whatever I can to help you. This may not be the time and place for kings and sorcerers, but evidently, it is the time and place for the impossible to become possible."

A small smile curved Arthur's lips. He had been brought back for this reason. And yet, it was a funny thought: that out of all the things he was to his people: leader, inspiration, guardian, father-figure, husband and sovereign, it was his role as friend and protector to Merlin that turned out to be the one that the universe thought the most important.


	8. Hunted

Matthew walked through the next day as though in a dream, his mind and emotions churning. He'd been texting back and forth with his mom all morning, assuring her he was okay, explaining where they were and how safe they were. Something in him desperately wanted to tell her what he'd found out, to ask if she'd suspected he was anything other than normal. Maybe she hadn't, but something about the way she replied made him think that wasn't the case.

_Mom, have you heard what they believe?_

_-Listen to them. They can help you, Matthew._

_But do you believe them? About me?_

_-You've always been special. But what I believe is that this is all beyond my understanding._

_Mom. Do you trust them?_

_-I do. And they can keep you safe, love. That's what I trust more than anything._

Dr. Driscoll sent them on their way with plenty of food and water (they had refused money, as that was something they did not need, though Matthew had no idea why). Tabitha had come out briefly, wan and tired, to press a cloth-wrapped stone into Matthew's hand and whisper a quiet, "This may help you. It holds magic from your country. I'm sorry I cannot help you more. God bless."

Matthew wanted to ask questions, but she had already hurried away. His aura was apparently that horrifying and freakish. He could probably join the circus. _Come see the aura of the man that time forgot!_

What really bothered him was that he hadn't known his aura was so screwed up until she had told him. But now that he _did_ know, it interfered with everything he thought, everything he felt, everything he wanted. He couldn't forget it for even a second.

Then they were back on the road, heading upstate and away from the place Matthew's connection to EVIL had last been established. That part worried Matthew, that this kind and half-crazy professor might be hurt for nothing more than helping him. He was very glad to leave, just in case that were true.

Arthur seemed sure that their nameless foe wouldn't be fooled, that Matthew's magic was so powerful it would call someone directly to him, no matter where they went, no matter whether the connection was destroyed or not. It was almost like being a gigantic bug zapper, only the bugs were more dangerous than the zapper.

So it didn't matter if they moved or not, Matthew argued via texting as Gwaine held the steering wheel steady.

Arthur replied that moving was their only shot at staying alive, so they were moving.

It was when he was aimlessly flipping channels on the radio that he found a news report broadcast from Crystal River. "Turn that up," Arthur commanded from the back.

"I'm gonna' tell you what I done told everybody else that's asked me," a sassy, Southern voice was saying. Tanya, Matthew's nurse, was being interviewed. "That boy's name is Matthew Hyde and he's special...or some'n. I don't know what he is. He don't talk, he just looks up at you with that big-eyed, sweet look of his and you just _know_ something's going on in his head that you don't understand a bit of. I never did figure him out." She hummed in disappointment. "But that man in the hospital that guarded him and rescued him yesterday, that man was none other than King Arthur himself and I don't care if you _don't_ believe me. Or you over there with the stupid Dr. Pepper t-shirt on, or you girl in them cute purple wedges, or even if every other one of God's children in the whole of the U.S. of A. don't believe me. I _know_ what I saw. I know what he said and I know what I _felt_. That man is King Arthur and that means there is about to be some serious _bleep_ going on down around here. Pardon my language."

"And what exactly did King Arthur say to you?" a slight, blonde reporter asked.

"That's for me to know and you to find out, sugar. I only have one other thing to say: King Arthur is a stud and once he gets to talking to you, you'll be begging to be one of his subjects, if you know what I'm saying."

Matthew looked at Arthur in the rearview mirror, eyebrows raised high. He was amused to find Arthur flushed and shaking his head.

"You did quite a number on her, mate," Gwaine said, laughing.

Arthur tilted his head to the side in acknowledgement. "Unintentionally."

The radio report went on to interview others from the hospital and the surrounding neighborhoods, but most of the information they already knew, having lived through it.

Another few hours down the road and Matthew found himself driving up the state of Georgia, trying to find a rest area for a bathroom break. He'd never been farther north than Macon, and was continually surprised at the lush beauty of Georgia's forests. It remained humid and there was less of a breeze than there was down in Florida. But the trees more than made up for it.

He pulled off into the next rest area where all three of the men used the ample facilities.

Matthew returned to the car first and stood there, irritated by everything. He didn't feel like sitting right now. Or driving. But then he didn't much feel like getting hunted by mythological creatures or having a freakish aura, either. Pretty much all he wanted was to go home to Crystal River and crawl in his bed.

A frown of mutiny pursed his lips; his gaze narrowed. They were far enough away from Dr. Driscoll, far enough away from everyone he knew.

Matthew stood. He was tired of doing what he was told, of just sitting there while everyone told him who he was and what he was worth and what they were up against. He needed to do something, to face up to whatever the hell this was and end it. So he did the only thing he knew to do. He pulled the stone Sister Tabitha had given him out of his pocket and carefully peeled away the protective fabric.

As soon as he closed his eyes, the world around him disappeared.

He was walking around in a haze, stumbling into people, weary and, like the rest of the crowd of Londoners, covered in ashy, black soot. It was only after the third person ran into him that he remembered he had made himself invisible in the last hour to keep his magic secret. He hid behind a bush and with a swirl of heat in his eyes, undid the spell, trusting in the weariness and distraction of the people around him to hide his sudden appearance.

Across the river Thames, a smoking skyline met his eyes, the ruins of the central part of the city of London. He'd nearly been too late to help at all.

With a violent shudder, Merlin began coughing and hacking, feeling as though something he'd swallowed was trying to come back up. Hardly any air was able to get in and he collapsed, someone smaller than him breaking his fall. His magic reacted instinctively, warming his eyes and sifting through his body to remove the foreign particles. The next round of coughing brought it all up in a greyish, phlegmy mess and suddenly he could breath again.

Someone helped him up so that he could stumble his way over to the riverbank and sit. A cup of water was shoved into his hand and he drank. He nodded his thanks, waved them off and sat still, feeling bruised all over and weary in a familiar way.

It had taken him far too long to get here, far too long to figure out that ending the strong east wind was the key to stopping the fire. But it hadn't been the horrible loss of lives that it could have been.

Merlin had been able to protect thousands by holding collapsing buildings in place longer and urging the stubborn Londoners to seek refuge across the Thames, where he had every intention of holding the flames by whatever means were necessary. Thousands of people had been saved and the fire had only ravaged central London.

But what he had seen these nights would haunt him forever. Merlin shuddered. Londoners had turned on each other in fear, attacking anyone, especially foreigners, who might have started the fire. Children had been lost, thousands of homes burnt and the beautiful, massive cathedral of St. Paul gutted.

Why would their god have let that happen? Why had he not woken Merlin sooner?

A stifled sob broke out and he stood, steeling himself to walk back out of the city walls, turning a deaf ear to the pitiful sounds of people trying to find loved ones, of buildings still burning and collapsing, of crying and screaming and anguish.

It was too much. Merlin froze time as he began his walk out of the city, unable to deal with humanity just then.

When would this end? Calamity after calamity. When there wasn't war crippling this land, there was sickness. Just last year, Merlin had suffered with the people of Britain as the plague had marched through the cities for the fourth time in a century. This time had been the worst, with three times as many bodies piling up and exhausted healers giving in.

Merlin had cared for the sick as well as he could, saving, with all his skill and magic and force of will, only about one in every hundred. Those he failed to save, he buried, coaxing the land into accepting another body, blessing its passing with his magic. In the end, the healers who fought the disease were the ones he cared for the most. He found that he did the most good by bringing them food, helping them think and caring for their own needs as they were too busy caring for everyone else. It was like serving Arthur again, fulfilling in a surprising way.

But it had exhausted him so that afterwards, he slept the sleep of the dead. He hibernated in his cave, as was his wont after times of deep distress and pain until this fire had stirred the magic in the land enough to wake him. Fear sent him flying to London in the guise of a falcon, where the smell of smoke and death had drawn him as surely as a the smell of decay draws flies. There he had labored and toiled in the noisome air for two days, until his very bones seemed to have absorbed stink of smoke.

Would he ever be rid of the stench?

He found his way to the lovely forest and with a violent wave, Merlin released time to plod forth once more, to do its worst and bring whatever calamity it would next.

There was no sanctuary, no love, no hope for him, only more demands and more needs from this never-ending parade of humanity. Something broke in him then. He fell to his knees.

"Arthur?" he whispered, cutting himself to ribbons with the word, feeling the sharpness of his misery and profound loneliness. "Please? Now?"

But there was no answering word, no rush of magic signalling his king's return...only the sound left when everyone and everything around you has died-silence.

Matthew came to himself in a rush, panting, aware of the asphalt under his knees and the sharp smell of vomit in his nostrils. Arthur was beside him, hand on his back, somehow managing to keep away from the pile of sick on the ground. Gwaine, as he always was, was cursing somewhere nearby.

A rush of memory hit Matthew again, of what he had just seen and felt and then he was on his feet, running.

He pounded across the asphalt, heading for the woods on the side, heedless, instinctive.

They were calling after him, chasing him, but Matthew didn't care. He couldn't deal with it. He couldn't deal with that-

Arthur grabbed the back of his jacket and hauled him up short, like he had done so many times before. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Not safe, mate, not without us," Gwaine added.

Matthew held his hands over his ears. Why had he just thought that-that Arthur had done that very thing so many times before? It was a single thought, but it led to many more, crowding in his mind: Arthur's smug look when he'd won an argument, the ties on his nightshirt, the smell of the oil used on his boots, the heavy weight of armor slipping between his fingers...

"No!" Matthew shouted, putting his hands over his ears again. He jerked away from Arthur and faced the two of them, his chest heaving. Arthur had frozen in shock. "I don't want this!"

Gwaine was smiling softly. "Don't want what, mate?"

"That vision I just had-of death and burning and plague and loneliness-I don't want that!"

Arthur looked away. "I'm sorry," he finally said.

"Forget about that!" Gwaine said, coming closer. "There are good memories in there somewhere; you'll find them. But I don't think you've realized: you just spoke aloud. You're _talking_, mate. Actually, more like yelling."

Matthew's jaw dropped. "I am? I am! I'm talking. Why am I talking?"

Arthur smiled, shaking his head. "Ah, now there's the idiot I know and love. Are all your memories back then?"

"No. And I don't want them. I mean...I don't want to be him! I'm sorry," he said as their faces both fell, "but my God-his life was unending misery. Who in their right mind would want that?"

Arthur stared at him, his jaw tightening. Without a word, he turned and strode off toward the car. "We can't stay here," he barked. "Let's go."

Gwaine followed, subdued, leaving Matthew to pull himself and his guilt together on his own.

The first thing Matthew did when they reached a motel was call his mother. She had never heard his voice before. It was hard to know what to say to her. During the long, silent car ride, he'd had plenty of time to realize that he no longer believed that he was simply Matthew. All evidence pointed to the contrary and necessity was trying to kick his ass into believing it. But he wasn't going to go easy. He had too much to live for, while Merlin had nothing but hard memories and loss to return to.

Did he even have a choice? Well, if he did, he was going to stay _Matthew_ forever.

His mom wept when she heard him, though she took some convincing before she believed it was him. He had to get out his laptop and hook up with her on Skype. When she saw him, she wept again and called to his dad. They both stood there and watched him talk like it was a miracle as he caught them up on their plans from here.

Matthew found himself hopeful for the first time in a long time. "We'll stay here tonight and who knows, if things are quiet tomorrow, too, maybe we'll come home." He caught the glare Arthur leveled at him, but ignored it. Even if he only made it home for a day or two, it would be worth it. There was a chance that the monsters had all gone and how stupid would they be to keep running from nothing?

His parents looked cautiously optimistic at the words and he told them he'd call tomorrow after they saw how the night went.

Only...the night didn't go so well.

* * *

Arthur paced like his life depended on it, even though he tried his best to stop. Matthew was talking now and remembering things and it was only his stupid, stubborn nature that kept him from acknowledging his past. Of course it did. Merlin had never missed an opportunity to do exactly what you _didn't_ want him to, so why would he change now, even if his smile wasn't as bright and his nature as sweet as before.

But all that was Arthur's own damn fault, or the fault of whoever had kept him from returning for too damn long.

Arthur reminded himself to be patient, again. They were making progress in the right direction. That stone Tabitha had given Merlin had jarred his magic loose, made him remember so strongly that he'd been sick to his stomach.

Arthur cursed under his breath. He wasn't glad that Merlin's reaction had been that visceral and horrifying. Gwaine had told Arthur about the Plague in 1665 and the Great Fire of London the next year. If that was what Merlin had just remembered, as they suspected, then it was no wonder that he was rejecting it all. These events had broken his mind the first time, leaving Merlin a wild hermit for nearly seventy years before his magic healed his mind and helped him remember himself.

_Patience_, Arthur reminded himself, settling back down into the chair outside the hotel door. They had chosen a second-floor room and decided to keep watch outside for anything that moved in the dark. Hopefully, it would be nothing. But Arthur was ready for action. The fact that Merlin's magic had shifted in Matthew enough to let the man speak had to be sending out a signal to whatever it was that wanted him.

Arthur jumped as the door behind him cracked open. He stood and frowned when he saw Matthew there, eyes sleepily unfocused, hair mussed in an endearing way, his lanky frame clad in the sweats that passed for pajamas.

"Matthew, what are you doing?"

Matthew mumbled and tried to press past Arthur. Arthur caught him by the shoulders and shook him gently. His eyes remained unfocused and his mumbling continued.

"Are you even awake?"

But after a long look into his face, Arthur was convinced that he was sleepwalking. Sighing, he turned Matthew around and marched back over to the bed. He kicked at Gwaine in the other bed.

"Wha?"

"He's trying to leave the room. Sleepwalking."

"Again?" Gwaine levered himself up on one elbow and looked at Matthew already folded back on the other bed. "Dammit. Where's he trying to go all the time?"

Arthur rubbed at his bottom lip as he watched Matthew twitch. "It would be an easy way to get to him. If he could just get past us, he'd be asleep, wandering about, fully as helpless as we used to think he was in the good old days."

"You mean as you used to think he was, princess. I always had the utmost respect for his wits and his luck."

Arthur paused. "Respect? Ah. Is that why you were always trying to get him drunk?"

"No," Gwaine said as he levered himself up off the mattress, "that was because he's a funny drunk. And because he was always so damn serious. My watch?"

Arthur nodded. "Maybe we should try that next."

"A tavern?"

"Yes. A tavern, though I think it's called something different here."

Gwaine whooped softly. "Finally! Tomorrow, we hit our first bar!"

* * *

It was Gwaine's watch after that, and he stood to make sure that he didn't fall asleep. It was a boring view: a nearly empty parking lot flooded with an awful orange glow from periodic street lights. A few cars sped by on their way to more important places. For hours, it was still and quiet except for the hum of the lights and the drone of insects.

There was little else to do but puzzle over their unknown enemy which was a frustrating pasttime since they honestly had nothing to go on. Just evil and woman and wendigos, which when put together in his mind...meant absolutely nothing.

If he was the one after Merlin, he would have changed strategies when the wendigos didn't work. Any clever person would and he had to at least ascribe that trait to his enemy, if only for the reason that he didn't ever want to underestimate her. Not the way he had Morgana.

_So, if this mysterious, evil woman changed strategies,_ Gwaine asked himself as he leaned back against the stucco wall, _what would be the next one down the list? From wendigos who cover the ground in no time at all and are fearless fighting machines, we move to..._

His gaze strayed up to the sky and stayed there.

_What **is** that?_

* * *

Matthew woke to a muffled shout and a thud, taking a few seconds to realize that Arthur was shaking him awake. "It's time to go." Matthew stood shakily while Arthur moved across the room and peeked through the curtain. He cursed. "Get dressed and ready to leave now!"

Matthew nodded, trying to think, to remember what things he needed to grab and failing horribly due the horrific sounds coming from outside. Gwaine was yelling and things were attacking, screeching and splatting juicily against the window.

_"Don't come out!"_ Gwaine yelled again, but Arthur wasn't going to listen. He was poised at the door, sword in hand.

"Stay in the room, Matthew. Lock the door."

Matthew didn't even have time to be indignant before the door was open and shut again, but the jolt of anger helped clear his head. He scrambled into his clothes, stuffed everything in his backpack and pulled on his shoes.

Meanwhile, what sounded like a massacre was going on outside. A sudden cry of pain from one of the men made him jump and Matthew had the familiar feeling of ants crawling under his skin. Heat bloomed in his chest and he knew it for what it was. Matthew began to tremble.

Gwaine and Arthur had emphasized how easy this room would be to defend. The only weak point was the large window that looked out over the walkway and the parking lot below. Two men blocking the door and the window should be able to repel any attackers, if they were as skilled as Gwaine and Arthur. But this attack sounded nothing like the roars, grunts and power of a wendigo attack. There were screeches, and something flapping-wings?

It wasn't fair to leave Arthur and Gwaine to take the brunt of the attacks while he did nothing. He didn't know of anything he could do. But what if he could use magic? What if this was-

Then Arthur was shouting-a warning-and a second later, the window exploded inward. Matthew saw, as he recoiled, that it was Gwaine who had been knocked through the glass.

That was all he had time to see before a large brown creature was coming at him. Wings filled the air as the creature lifted its clawed feet and slashed at Matthew, tearing through the backpack he'd lifted in defense. The thing screeched and its beady eyes glared. That face and body resembled pictures Matthew had once seen of a bat, only this one was enormous.

Matthew flung the damaged backpack at it and turned to run for the bathroom, thinking to get one more door between it and him. The creature attacked before he had a chance, sweeping into him hard enough to knock him into the doorframe. Then it leapt up on his back, clawing and flapping and pushing down on him until Matthew was on the floor hands over his head.

This seriously pissed him off.

He rolled over on his back and kicked out with both legs, catching the creature in the center of its furry body and sending him flying back a few feet before the wings stopped its momentum. Then Arthur was there glaring at the thing and_ sliiiiice_-the bat was suddenly without a head.

Blood splattered and the body fell across Matthew's legs. He kicked it off frantically, and Arthur put down his sword to heft it through the window, where another couple of huge bat bodies already lay twitching.

Arthur and Matthew shared a twin look, a sort of mash-up of _Are you all right_ and _yes, I'm fine_ and _oh my god have you seen Gwaine?_ At least that's what Matthew's look had meant and he thought he'd seen that in Arthur's eyes as well. Then they were at Gwaine's side.

The man's vest had protected him from the glass, but the bat had managed to catch him across the throat with one of its claws and the jagged, gaping cut was horrifying. Matthew clapped his hands over his mouth to stop the hysteria that was just beneath the surface. Gwaine was dying; there was too much blood to think otherwise.

Arthur took one of Gwaine's limp hands and fitted it to his forearm, clenching their arms together in a show of solidarity. "Friend, I fear it is your hard duty to die twice in this life. Do not linger. Go swiftly and safely and to all those that we love. You have served me well."

"Don't...exaggerate," Gwaine rasped out. "I'm no good at serving anyone. But this is what I wanted." He reached out for Matthew's hand. "This time I died protecting you instead of betraying you. This is what I needed to do. Understand?"

Matthew's face crumpled and tears slid palely down his cheeks. "No. I don't understand why. I don't understand any of this."

Arthur's sharp glance caught his and his look of remonstrance caught Matthew up short. _Right_. This wasn't about him right now. Matthew sucked up a deep breath and met Gwaine's agonized gaze.

"You have been nothing but a friend to me. Whatever wrong you think you've done me in the past is forgiven. Please. Be at peace." He didn't know where those words came from, but they seemed right and the gratitude he saw in Gwaine's eyes was worth it.

His last words were, "Thank you...my friend."

Then his face relaxed and his body followed suit. The light left his brown eyes only seconds later and Matthew found himself pulling away, shocked. Gwaine was dead.


	9. Fame

Matthew couldn't catch his breath. Blood was all over him. The smell was everywhere. Arthur was saying something, but the sounds were drowned out by the roar in Matthew's ears. He pushed past Arthur and went for the door, an instinct telling him to find clear air. But outside, on the walkway, there were dead creatures and more blood. Down below, there were even more twitching bodies scattered-ten, twenty. And two human bodies, still as death.

Matthew gagged and retched. Nothing came up but bile. Death was all around him.

He fell to his knees and he suddenly knew the truth: death was _always_ around him.

A memory welled up, of another time and another place...

He was in uniform, hungry, dirty, numb. There was grit in his mouth and the taste of blood on his tongue. The landscape was gray, smoke hanging in the air, the land shapeless with bodies. Before him, the waters of the Somme were running dark with blood.

His legs felt watery and he sat, the bottom of his boots sliding into the dark waters. Why was he in uniform? He looked around distractedly and saw that the bodies around him were in uniform, some matching his, some not. Thousands of them, stretching on forever, with so much blood, so much wasted life...

A muffled boom in the distance broke through his reverie. The tanks were still firing and the front line had moved on. Merlin tugged at his uniform at the shoulder, where a bullet had lodged itself so inconveniently. Warm blood was pumping down his arm. He could magic it away, if he hadn't used so much magic already. It tired him, especially healing magic, and he had already healed many of his comrades today, as he had on previous days, weeks and months of this wretched war.

He lay back and stared at the sky, its charming blue stained with smoke and indifference.

Merlin hated war...hated the endlessness of it, the long slog of marching toward death in the hopeless hope that evil would not prevail.

This is what he had strived to prevent and failed to prevent: an entire world at war.

It was madness.

Matthew gasped and came back to himself with a jerk. Or, actually, Arthur had pulled him up with a jerk and now he was aware again. He was Matthew. Not Merlin. Not shot on a battlefield.

He grabbed at Arthur, clenching the shoulders of his shirt, shocking him. "Why? Why did he have to live through all of that? Why? What in the hell was the point?"

It wasn't until Arthur's arms came around him that he realized he was crying, sobbing deep sobs that wracked him through and through.

Arthur was talking calmly to him, something about destiny and wholeness and worth, but it was all washed away in a flood of emotion that left Matthew weak and as numb as Merlin had been on that battlefield.

"I can't do this," he whispered, his gaze far away, "not yet."

Arthur held on to his friend, desperately trying to pick up clues as to who he was holding-Merlin or Matthew. There was a struggle going on inside this man, a fight for dominance between two persons, though they were essentially the same. Matthew was an increasingly traumatized twenty-two year old forced to watch his life fade slowly away, the same way Arthur had once painfully watched his own. Merlin was an ageless, immortal sorcerer who had been through unfathomable grief so often that death seemed like an unattainable dream.

Both had reasons for good reasons for falling apart and Arthur realized with some relief that this was not the time to have deep, meaningful talks. So he held onto him, whichever of the two men it was, just as Merlin had once held onto him at the end of Arthur's last life.

Slowly, the man stopped repeating his mantra of "can't do this" and his body relaxed. When he pulled away, Arthur released him.

"Are you all right, Merlin?"

"Don't call me that-not yet. My name is Matthew."

Arthur patted him on the back lightly, trying not to be disappointed. He looked around, assessing their surroundings. "Of course. Matthew, we need to move on."

"But what about Gwaine?" he asked, the light of pain making his blue eyes so vulnerable and so perfectly Merlin that Arthur was struck dumb. It felt wrong to smile at that moment, but he knew what Matthew did not, that Gwaine was in Avalon and Matthew was becoming Merlin and all would be well soon. He put a hand on Matthew's shoulder.

"He will be taken care of, in this world and in the next. I've seen Avalon and all the people we love wait for us there. Gwaine's purpose in accompanying me here was to do exactly what he did-repay a debt. Not one that we felt he owed us, but one that he felt he must repay. It was well done," Arthur admitted, shaking Matthew's shoulder to get him to look at him, "and we should not waste the extra time it gave us to flee. We must move on."

Matthew put up a hand to stop Arthur. "Are you telling me the truth? About Avalon?"

"Yes, I am."

Matthew thought for a moment before nodding. When he headed for the car, he moved as if carrying the weight of Gwaine's body on his own. Arthur slung his arm around Matthew's shoulder as they walked, grimacing as he saw the smear of blood on its hood and the cracked windshield.

"Bloody giant bats from hell," he muttered, pulling a small smile from Matthew. "I'll drive," he offered and Matthew broke out of his reverie long enough to look at him doubtfully. "What? I can drive, you know. You don't seriously think that I let Gwaine drive the car more than once? I'm not that stupid."

* * *

For a time, Matthew let himself drift, refusing to think about all the million and one things clamoring for his attention-Gwaine's death, his own guilt, giant bats, battlefields or fires or abbeys, his damaged computer on the floor of the hotel, his far away parents, the wendigos or the horrible, powerful EVIL that must be behind all of this. Nor did he allow himself to think about why this was happening either. He simply watched the dark road go by, letting himself be hypnotized by the endless trees, the strip of darkness and stars overhead and the sounds of the car around him. At some point, he drifted off.

When he woke, his neck aching from the cramped position he'd slept in, Arthur was switching between channels on the radio.

"Did you have a good nap?" Arthur asked, sounding irritable.

Matthew started to use sign language to reply, then remembered. "Yeah. Even had a nice dream. Best one I've had in ages. You need a break? I can drive." He yawned. It was still dark outside, not even dawn yet.

"In an hour." Arthur continued to switch between talk stations on the radio. There was nothing unusual on them, no reports of creatures hunting down college students. The gargantuan bats that had come out of nowhere hadn't made the news yet most likely because no one had been left alive at the motel. Matthew let the guilt slide in and out of him, trying not to let it lodge too deep. He was pretty sure he was carrying enough guilt already. Speaking of which...

He turned to face Arthur. "So I don't...Merlin doesn't...die?"

Arthur looked over at him, startled. "No. You're tougher than you look apparently." He sent a ghost of a smile at Matthew but received no reply. Arthur looked back at the road. "Gwaine said that you've faked dying a few times to get out of bad situations."

"That's sick," Matthew said, shocked.

"It is. You wouldn't have done it if there were other options. I know that."

Matthew huffed out a breath and after a moment, slammed a hand into the dash. "That's not me! I don't want it to be me."

"I know. But this is not the time to try and fight it, Matthew. Being who you are is dangerous. You're the most powerful sorcerer that ever lived. And all that magic you're not using is attracting attention."

Matthew put his feet up on the chair and hugged his knees to his chest. "What does that even mean?"

"Follow me: your President here is one of the most powerful men in the world. What if he were to sit in his office every day and ignore that power-doing nothing to exercise it for right or for wrong. What would happen? Someone would come along who wanted that power for themselves and they would find a way to take it. It's simple human nature. Do you understand?"

Matthew's stomach turned over and he nodded uncomfortably. That made too much sense. His gaze was pulled outward by a bright flash of lightning, followed by another rumble of thunder.

Arthur continued. "We are only running until you remember who you are, why you are here and accept the power that is yours. Once you do, you'll be so powerful that the things the gray witch sends against you won't even be a threat."

"The gray witch?"

Arthur grimaced and rubbed at his forehead. "I've been having dreams. I didn't realize it might have any meaning until Dr. Driscoll brought up the gray lady. She must have been sending me the dreams."

Matthew sat up straighter. "What does she look like?"

Arthur looked at him. "Tall, impossibly tall, and gray like the bark of an old tree. Evil to the core. I'm certain she wants me to deliver you to her, but I'm not going to do that," he said with a thin smile. "She wants me to go north, so I'm taking you south."

"But we _are_ going north. If we keep on 75 like this, we'll be in Atlanta soon."

Arthur cursed. "And that's farther north than Jacksonville?"

Matthew's eyes widened. "Jacksonville is...that's three hundred miles south of here, Arthur."

Arthur grabbed his cell phone and started punching angrily at the screen, settling the steering wheel against his knees. "How did I miss that?"

Matthew watched him with that familiar feeling of ants moving under his skin. Was Arthur simply confused or was something else going on? "We're not going to go north anymore, right?"

"No, of course not. We'll head...west on 20 once we get through Atlanta."

"You should let me drive through the city."

"I'll be fine," Arthur snapped. Ten minutes later, he was cursing at drivers right and left as they merged and cut him off again and again.

"Arthur, you really should be going faster than forty-five. The speed limit is fifty-five."

"Then why in the bloody hell is everyone going seventy?"

"It's Atlanta, that's why. Really, you should let me drive."

Only half an hour later, they were on interstate 20 and headed west.

Matthew felt himself nodding off again and tilted his seat back. "Sorry, but I'm so tired."

"You're still recovering. I don't need much sleep these days. I'm fine."

Matthew tried to get comfortable, but felt himself falling asleep before he reached that point. Sometime later, he woke with the dawn, feeling better and brighter than the day outside, which was only offering only shades of gray as the sun rose behind a curtain of clouds. Arthur looked pale and tired.

"Where are we?"

Arthur didn't answer. He was staring straight ahead, blank-eyed. Matthew thumped him lightly on the arm and he jumped.

"Is there a problem?" Arthur frowned at him.

"You didn't answer. Where are we?"

"We're heading west."

But as Merlin saw a road sign, he felt a sinking sensation in his gut. "What-Arthur, we're going _north_ on 65. What are you doing?"

Arthur looked around, befuddled. "I was going west, I was. And then..."

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Stop the car, Arthur."

Arthur stared at him "I can't."

"Why can't you? We're going the wrong way!"

Arthur's gaze danced around, from Matthew to the road and back again, nervous, like he had something to hide. "I have to get you somewhere safe."

"And where is safe?"

"North. Northeast. We're almost there," he breathed out, "just a little farther, Matthew. And then you'll see."

"Stop the car!" Matthew yelled and he tried to reach the brake pedal with his foot, but Arthur slammed a fist into his thigh. Matthew yelped in pain, clutching his leg.

"Matthew?" Arthur asked, sounding lost, "I didn't mean to do that. I just...I just can't stop the car. I'm sorry."

Matthew ignored Arthur's babbling. The witch had gotten to him. That image he had described, of the gray woman...Matthew had seen her when he had been a child. He hadn't thought she was real. But she was and now she had Arthur doing her bidding. Matthew was being delivered to her.

He tried to stay calm. How could he stop the car without hurting Arthur? If he tried to gain control then he might wreck the car...but then again...maybe Arthur would just hit the brakes.

Moving quick, Matthew jerked an elbow down into Arthur's arm, using all his weight to break the man's hold on the wheel. It worked and Matthew yanked the wheel to the right with both hands.

It worked for three brief seconds: the car swung right; Arthur braked.

And then Matthew's nose exploded with pain as Arthur elbowed him. Reeling, seeing stars, he was manhandled to the other side of the car.

It took nearly five minutes for Matthew's nose to stop bleeding and his eyes to stop watering. Beside him, Arthur muttered, his words divided between apologies and assurances that this was the right way. Watching the world go by out the window, Matthew contemplated jumping for it, but he couldn't risk it at this speed. If they slowed down, maybe. His nose really, _really_ hurt.

When they slowed to turn North on 255, he gathered himself and went for the door handle, but a rock solid grip on his arm disabused him of that notion.

"Everything will be fine, Matthew," Arthur said in a hollow voice, "just stay in the car."

Matthew winced at the bruising grip but obeyed. He wasn't stronger than Arthur, and he'd used up all his tricks. _Except magic,_ he reminded himself hopelessly. Yes, okay, that damaged aura _might_ be a store of magic inside, but he had no idea how to go about using it. He groaned, and Arthur's grip loosened.

It wouldn't be too bad to jump now, but all Matthew could do was stare as he saw a sign by the road ahead. _Mammoth Cave National Park,_ it read. They were turning into the park.

For the first time he began to think maybe Arthur wasn't ensorcelled. In Matthew's visions of the past, the woods and caves had been Merlin's home when he wanted to escape the world of men. Was it possible that some other force was at work here? Even Magic itself? "I'll be safe here?" he peered at Arthur.

"Yes," Arthur said, sounding relieved, "this is where we're supposed to be. You'll be safe here."

As soon as they reached the parking lot, which was already hosting a dozen cars, Arthur released Matthew's arm and eased into a slot. He turned off the car and sat, blinking for a minute. Then he frowned. "Why am I so tired?"

Matthew rubbed his arm, trying to get the circulation going again. "You drove through most of the night. Just lay back and sleep. I'll keep watch."

Arthur nodded and leaned his chair back. Matthew watched in amazement as he fell asleep instantly.

Looking around, Matthew saw other cars with families piling out, ready for a day of exploring the caves. Maybe this could be his safe place, like in his visions. Maybe he should check it out on his own.

Just then, his stomach rumbled. Matthew groaned. He had no food and looking around, he didn't see anywhere to get food. But there had been a cafe a few miles up the road. "I'll be right back," he told Arthur, reaching over to lock the door and grab the keys. "And I'll bring food."

His face, leg and arm ached as he got out of the car, reminders of how violent Arthur had gotten on the way here. The bruises made walking painful and of course it was farther back than Matthew had remembered. All in all, it took about ten minutes to get to the Crystal Lake Coffee Shop.

The walk did clear Matthew's head a bit. By the time he got there, he knew that he definitely didn't want to stay. In fact, he now thought that he should have forced Arthur into the back seat, driven here to eat and then taken off for some safer place.

But there was a niggling part of his mind that said a sleeping Arthur was safer than an awake Arthur right now. Waking him up would not be easy or fun and who knew what the consequences would be? Like this, he was unpredictable at best, and scary at worst.

At the cafe, Matthew ordered a couple of muffins and a latte. The first muffin he practically inhaled, but the second, full of big chocolate chips, was so good that he took his time. He was doing an excellent job at not thinking about anything catastrophic, focusing instead on the interesting people around him. There was a sweet family with three little blond-headed kids who were happily tucking into pancakes with some mix of fruit and whipped cream on top. Their dad was reading the newspaper.

The scene reminded him to call his mom and tell her where they had driven to and that no, they weren't coming home just yet. Hopefully they would soon. To make her feel better, he told her about the good dream he'd had; she knew how rare they were for him. "That must mean something good is going to happen, right?"

"I hope so, sweetie. Just stay with Arthur and Gwaine; they'll get you home safe."

Matthew felt guilty for not correcting her, but he wanted the call to reassure her, not make her worry more. She seemed shocked at how far they had driven, so he convinced her that they were doing some sightseeing.

"Might as well have some fun, right?"

"I love that idea. You do that, Matthew. You need some fun. Call me when you've figured out your next step, sweetie. And tell Arthur to call me when he wakes up. I have a few questions to ask him."

"Sure thing. Bye, Mom. I love you."

"You have no idea how wonderful it is to hear you say that out loud. I love you, too. Be safe."

Matthew hung up, determined to take charge and try to get some place safer. Unfortunately, his mind did toss out the idea that he might actually be safer now without going back to Arthur. But that felt wrong on so many levels. Matthew went back and forth over the idea until it made him dizzy. Then he got the waitress's attention and ordered Arthur a greasy breakfast sandwich and a couple of bottles of chilled water to go. He couldn't abandon Arthur.

After a moment, the television nestled against the ceiling caught his attention. The cafe had several spaced around the eating area, all tuned to the same channel. And that channel was showing his own face right now.

Matthew stared, looking at his high school senior picture, the one where he'd smiled like a dork because the photographer had been blond, attractive and had told him that he had beautiful eyes. He fumbled with the control at his table and listened in on the nationally televised morning show.

The anchor sat casually in front of a large picture window as he continued what must have been his introduction to the segment, "...since the interviews in Crystal River after the wendigo attack. We now know that Matthew was adopted at the age of five and brought up in a suburb of Louisville, Kentucky by his parents, Verona and Jim Hyde. The orphanage, Happy Acres, has reported that Matthew appeared mysteriously in their yard one day, toddling around at the age of three, completely naked."

Matthew swore softly, blushing. "They just love telling that story," he muttered. As he glanced back up, he saw his waitress staring at him, her eyes widening. He ducked his head as the anchor continued.

"We have with us today a man who says he not only met Matthew Hyde and King Arthur himself, but they were overnight guests on his estate in Arlington, Florida. Dr. Driscoll, welcome. Let's cut to the chase, weren't you scared of the wendigos showing up at your house?"

Dr. Driscoll chuckled from under his droopy mustache, looking trim in his solemn brown suit. "Thank you for bringing me here. And no, I was not afraid of the wendigos. Our house has extra security measures. I was actually looking forward to them getting tested. But alas. The night was even calmer than I had anticipated."

"So you met a man claiming to be King Arthur."

Dr. Driscoll raised his eyebrows. "No, no, not _claming_ to be-"

"That's right," the anchor agreed, "let me clarify-you met King Arthur himself."

"Yes."

"And how did you find him to be?"

"Kingly, of course," he chuckled, "possessing a certain gravitas and bearing the like of which I have rarely seen. But I also found him extremely kind and caring. I have to admit," he looked over the top of his glasses for a moment, "that I was quite taken aback to see how much he cared for his young friend. Their relationship seems quite special."

"Yes, that has been mentioned before. But let's get back to the king himself, because I find this fascinating and you are an expert on the legend of King Arthur. It has been said that Arthur was a warrior king, is that correct?"

As Dr. Driscoll agreed and went off on a short lecture about Arthur's legacy, Matthew's waitress, Laura, finally approached.

"Here's your order to go," she said, handing him the brown bag breakfast and waters he'd ordered. "Are you ready for your check?"

"Thanks. Sure," Matthew smiled uneasily as he got out his wallet, but Laura didn't ask any questions. She kept glancing at the television and then back to him. Matthew was relieved when she went to get change.

The anchor was more solemn now. "...then the security tape from St. Mary's hospital in Crystal River was released to the press. After viewing it, I have to admit that there is more to this story than I first believed. Here, you can see a short snippet of how this man, reputed to be King Arthur, deals with the attack of one of the wendigos. It is not for the squeamish."

The view switched to a blurry, daytime shot of the back parking lot at the hospital. Three figures had just appeared, weaving between the cars, obviously Arthur, Gwaine and Matthew. Matthew's jaw dropped. Of course they would have it on tape. He watched as Arthur handily dealt with the first wendigo, cutting off one arm and then the other before stabbing it through the mouth. Arthur was magnificent-balanced, powerful, deadly.

"Stunning piece of swordsmanship, really," the anchor noted.

"I hadn't seen it. It's astounding, yes, but not surprising, given the place he came from."

The news anchor looked down at his notes. "But you have something surprising to reveal about the younger man, Matthew. What was it that you discovered while he was in your house?"

"Matthew is none other than Merlin the magician, reincarnated."

Matthew winced and ducked his head again.

"And as I hear you say it, I can only have the same reaction I had the first time. What on earth could have convinced you of that fact? Did he perform magic for you? Did he grow out the long beard and white hair on the spot?"

"No, no, of course not," Dr. Driscoll rushed to assure him. "It was something that Arthur himself attested to and I came to believe as I studied him further. Matthew is a man divided between two worlds and two persons. He is struggling, not just to stay safe, but to find himself and the truth of who he is. I felt honored to help him in any way."

"Though he didn't speak a word to you the entire time he was in your house?"

"No, sir, he did not. He communicates by texting most often, or by a series of looks and gestures that Arthur or their other companion, Gwaine, can read extraordinarily well."

"Gwaine? Would that, by any chance, be Sir Gwaine of the Round Table?"

"I believe it was, indeed."

"Fascinating. And where were the three of them headed after leaving you?"

"I couldn't say, but I know wherever it is, it is not a place of safety. There is a doom laid upon that young man and I only pray that he is able to find himself before the weight of it crushes him completely. Without Arthur's help, he never would have survived even this long."

Matthew put his head in his hands, overcome by a rush of conflicting emotions. Was he doomed? It felt so much worse hearing someone else say it. In a haze he heard the anchor signing off as they went to a kitchen segment about fish stew.

Matthew felt dazed. Everyone he knew had probably seen that report, or would by the end of the day. Even Cricket, who had been completely silent since her return to California, had probably seen that. There was no coming back from this. "Oh, god."

His waitress appeared at just that moment, "Here's your change," she said quietly. "Are you okay? Because I know you can't be, but you look _just_ like that Matthew guy." He looked up at her and had no idea what to say. "You do! Mary and I were just talking about that, how much you look like him and she says, 'It's got to be him. Go and ask him!' And I just couldn't help myself. It's just that you have the same amazing eyes."

He sighed. "It's me."

She wrinkled her nose. "Only...you talk and they said he didn't."

Matthew nodded. "Yeah. I sort of just started yesterday."

"Oh. Okay. Well, so...are you Merlin?"

"Um. I think so. Maybe."

"Whoa. That is _so_ totally awesome. And where's King Arthur? Is he, like, here somewhere?"

"I left him in the car. He's sleeping."

"Whoa. The _actual_ King Arthur?"

"Um. I think so. Maybe."

"Can I get your autograph?" Matthew stared up at her blankly. "I have a pen. Oh! Here, can you sign your receipt?"

"But I'm not...I'm not anybody..."

"Come on! You're freaking _Merlin_, right?"

"Oh. Okay," Matthew agreed because he didn't know what else to do, and signed, blushing the entire time.

"Thank you so much! I'm sure they're wrong about the whole doom thing."

Matthew nodded and handed her back the pen.

"I'm like, never using this pen again. Thank you!"

Laura rushed off, leaving Matthew to make his own awkward way to the door. He felt eyes on him as he scuffed across the tiles. Then someone tugged at his sleeve.

"Mr.? You're him, aren't you?"

Matthew looked over to see the oldest of the blond kids at his elbow, his big brown eyes open wide with wonder.

"Who?" he asked, fidgeting, putting off the inevitable.

"The guy who knows King Arthur! I saw him on Youtube when he killed all those ape things. He was _awesome!"_

Matthew smiled and knelt. "He was pretty cool, wasn't he?"

"Yeah!"

"You don't...you don't want my autograph, do you?"

The boy's eyes got wider. "Yeah, I do, but my Dad said I couldn't ask for it."

"Oh. Well, just explain to him that you didn't ask. Here," he grabbed a napkin off a nearby table and signed it with the pen that Laura, who was suddenly at his elbow, handed to him. "Thanks," he told her, and she smiled at him shyly. He signed and gave the napkin back to the boy.

"Does that say 'Matthew Hyde?" the boy asked him, studying the napkin.

"That's right. And there's only two of those in the whole world right now. So hang on to that. It might be worth something one day."

"Okay," the boy agreed, nodding vigorously. Then he grinned. "Thanks!" and ran back to his table, yelling _"I got it!"_

Matthew smiled and gave the boy's father an awkward half-wave. Then he saw the interested looks from the other tables and turned quickly for the door. Time to go before anyone else got any ideas. He handed the pen back to the waitress and then paused, noticing that the sky outside seemed darker than it should be. Thunder rolled across the sky. Matthew tensed. Something in the air didn't feel right.

Seconds later, he watched in stunned amazement as a mist rose outside, flooding the parking lot and obscuring all view of the world beyond. He looked at Laura where she stood behind the register. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

Her eyes wide, she shook her head. "It's like the whole world is disappearing. Does this have something to do with you?"

"I don't know," Matthew said softly. Around him, others had begun to notice the strange phenomenon. A couple of people were at the windows, cell phones out, taking video. The mist outside had thickened to a fog in less than a minute. _Not good_.

Matthew was contemplating his options when a figure stepped out of the swirling mist and strode to the front door. It was Arthur. He looked wide awake and ready for battle, sword and gear in place. Matthew looked around at the other people in the cafe, worried what they might think of the weapon as Arthur pushed inside the glassed entryway.

"Is that him? Ohmygod, it is, isn't it?" Laura went running off with a squeal, probably to spread the word.

Matthew stepped forward and opened the inner door as Arthur approached. "Did you drive over? I was just about to come back and..." he trailed off when he saw Arthur's blank expression. "Oh no."

"You must come with me," Arthur said, his eyes fixed on Matthew.

"No. No. I don't think so," Merlin said, backing away. "I, I got you some food." He offered the bag but it was knocked to the ground with a minimum of movement. "Arthur, come on. You know this is wrong. "

"You must come with me," he repeated, turning to follow Matthew's fumbling footsteps as he moved away.

"I don't want to come with you, okay? I don't-"

"Look, weirdo, I think he's made himself clear," said a large, beefy man in overalls. "He don't have to go nowhere." Almost everyone in the cafe was turned toward them now, watching the unfolding scene with interest.

Arthur just stared at the man before moving forward to grab Matthew's shirt and pulling him. "You must come."

"Arthur, let go! This isn't you talking. Let go!" Panic was beginning to rise in Matthew's voice as he fought the ants-under-his-skin feeling but it wasn't easy.

"I thought they said you were supposed to be his friend," Laura called out, looking shocked.

"He is," Matthew insisted, "he can't help it!"

Then the large man stepped up and grabbed hold of Arthur, jerking his hand away from Matthew. "Back off, idjit! He said no and around here, no means no."

"Hey!" yelled the blond kid from his table, "leave King Arthur alone!"

Arthur just looked confused and reached out for Matthew again. "But she wants him. I can't...I can't stop her."

The man stared at him. "Are you mental? Mary, you'd better call the cops," he called out to a lady standing just on the edge of the scene with a shrewd look and stiffly styled hair. "This guy's nuttier than a pecan pie."

"Already did," she drawled. The noise was rising in the cafe and a lot of people were rising to get involved.

Then Arthur shoved the man back and ripped Excalibur out of its sheath. There were screams and movement from every corner of the room as people scrambled to get away.

"No, Arthur!" Matthew yelled.

Arthur's face was pained and eyes wide in desperation. "I have to do this! You must come with me!"

"Cops'll be here in two point five minutes, king idjit, so you'd best be leavin'," called the man in overalls from where he crouched two stalls away.

But something raw in Arthur's voice had touched Matthew. "No. It's okay. Arthur, put the sword away and I'll go."

Protests came from every direction, but Matthew only heard one.

"No. No, it's too late," Arthur said softly, looking down at the floor, "She's already sent them." He looked up again, his face suddenly alive with fear. "Everyone has to leave-now!" He shouted the last word and Matthew rushed to understand.

"They're in danger?"

"Yes. Run-**_RUN!"_**

There was instant pandemonium.

"This way," Mary yelled over the rush, pointing to the way out the back.

Matthew ignored the noise. "But they're just after me, right?"

Arthur looked up at him, his jaw working and his eyes bright. "No," he whispered, "don't do it, Matthew. Don't..._don't._" But the words seemed to take too much out of him and he staggered against the wall.

For the first time, Matthew saw that Arthur was fighting the control of the witch, fighting and failing. Arthur could no longer protect him. Gwaine was gone. There was only one choice left.

Matthew shoved his fear down deep. He slammed open the inner doors of the restaurant and took a deep breath before pushing through the outer ones, ignoring the outcry behind him.

There was only mist to see, the shapes of dark trees overhead and the dark, cloud-covered morning sky behind. But there were noises rolling out of the whiteness that nearly stopped his heart-muffled grunting and roaring, moving closer with every second.

Matthew fidgeted, trying to hold his ground and protect all those behind him. The creatures only wanted to take him to her, but they might kill the people in the restaurant if he tried to hide. They might even kill Arthur. Matthew swallowed. He knew what he had to do and he knew what might happen. In his heart, he said goodbye to his mother and father, wished desperately that he had been brave enough to call Cricket or smart enough to see this coming. He gritted his teeth and held his ground.

But when the first shape broke through, he quailed. Over eight feet tall, knuckles dragging the ground, the creature's black diamond eyes fixed on him as it howled. Other howls split the air and then a second creature broke through the mist and a third and a fourth.

Matthew's hand went up, fingers spread on instinct. He could feel ants under his skin, heat in his chest that swelled up into his eyes.

Then, they charged.

Something was moving in him, flaming up and out and two of them went flying-

Then there was fur in his face, a stench in his nostrils and he was caught up in the air, squeezed by clawed hands that shook him to the deafening accompaniment of roars. The world went white, then black and there were pinpricks of light in the dark. Just as Matthew got his breath back, another set of clawed hands dug into his legs and pulled. Another pair swiped at his shoulder and side.

Then he was screaming from pain and terror as they fought, as the lights and siren of a police car filled the mist with color and sound. But it was all a blur to Matthew, whose body was pulled, pummeled and jerked until a collision with the ground sent his mind, thankfully, spinning.


	10. Oblivion

When Arthur came to himself, there were the sounds of panic all around-voices screaming, crying, and the sounds of destruction outside.

"Just like those swamp thingees in Florida. Right here in the damn park."

"That's because that's him-that's Matthew Hyde!"

"They can't open the doors. They don't know how."

"They can just break the glass!"

...

"If they wanted to, maybe, but I think they just want him."

"Someone should help him! My god..."

"Daddy? _Daddy!"_

There were several gasps.

"What the hell?"

...

"Was that..._magic?"_

"Daddy, did...did he do that? Is he okay?"

"It's okay. The police will help him. They'll get those bastards."

There were more screams and a gun fired outside at close range-then more shots and more screaming.

For first time, Arthur thought to himself, "I know that sound. I should help."

But when he moved, it was like moving through gallons of honey. Every part of him was tired and aching, and even the emotions of concern and fear for those around him were muted. It seemed like forever before he made it to his feet and staggered to the door, where he couldn't see any of the things those people had been talking about. The empty mist in the parking lot was already dissipating.

Then Arthur saw the body of a dead wendigo.

He pushed outside, registering the police car off to the side with its two frantic officers, one yelling at the other before jumping in the passenger seat and banging on the top of the car. They peeled off with a screech of tires and Arthur jumped in the station wagon, instinct telling him to follow.

Questions flooded his mind and there were no answers yet.

When he saw the Mammoth Cave National Park sign, a desperate jolt of fear went through him. _Merlin. The gray witch._

Horror stole his breath. He had driven the wrong way, completely given over control of his body. Merlin had tried to get him to turn around and Arthur had...he had hit him. Forced him to stay in the car and even gone after him at the cafe.

Arthur tried to bring his breathing under control as the rest of the memory unfolded in his mind.

The wendigos had taken Merlin and Arthur had just laid there and listened, thinking it was good because the wendigos weren't attacking the other people. _No!_ Arthur slammed his fist into the steering wheel.

Now he remembered fighting, trying to fight his way through the commands in his brain, but he hadn't been strong enough. And now they had Merlin-_she_ had Merlin.

Arthur pushed the car to its limits until he screeched to a halt in the parking lot. He ran to the caves, hardly knowing what he was doing, not even realizing anyone else was there until a guard was in his face, barring his entrance. The man babbled something about inhuman creatures and a man being dragged down into the caves.

"The police are already down there, sir, and it's not safe for civilians," the guard concluded. "Just step back and wait in your vehicle."

Arthur pulled his sword out and tried to form coherent, simple words that the man would understand. "I'm going to get my friend back. Now move."

Something about his look must have convinced the guard, because he stepped aside, pale, mumbling, "It's your funeral."

Arthur descended down the long, open staircase that ducked down into the large cave and disappeared into the earth. The temperature dropped steadily and the air grew heavy with moisture.

"Hey man!" Arthur looked up and the guard tossed him a flashlight. "You'll need this."

Arthur blinked. "Thank you."

It was obvious which direction the creatures had gone. There was a trail of destruction- trash, lights, bodies-in that direction. Once there was the sound of gunshots ahead. The policemen were doing their duty. He hoped they had sense enough to retreat quickly when the bullets didn't work.

Five minutes later, Arthur came across body parts in uniform and knew that the police were not going to be of any further help. There were several dead wendigos as well, but not nearly enough for Arthur's peace of mind. He took a moment to wish for Gwaine's solid presence before moving on.

The path was getting harder to see and it seemed calculated to slow him down, making him grind his way through narrow caves and then duck down underneath low ceilings. His only consolation was that the wendigos must have found it even more difficult.

The next large cavern he entered was completely dark but for his flashlight. Echoing hoots and the slide of rock on rock indicated that he was nearly upon them. There was no missing the sounds of rejoicing wendigos.

After a few more cautious minutes of creeping ahead, Arthur switched off his light. There was a vague glow from up ahead and someone was talking-a woman.

* * *

Matthew was so glad to be lying on the uncomfortable stone floor of the cave that it was absurd. He was hurt badly-_everywhere_. It was impossible to catalog so much pain. He knew something was broken but his head was too messed up to tell exactly what. There was ringing in his ears, almost as loud as that obnoxious voice. What was she saying? He tried to concentrate, because it was probably important.

"...for fifteen years, I siphoned off your power to make me strong. Never taking too much. Never letting anyone see. Never, never. Even at night, when you slept and dreamt of me. Sometimes I called to you, and they would always keep you from coming to me. But not this time." She stopped pacing and leaned over him, thrusting her gray, wrinkled face into his line of vision. When he turned away, she took his chin in her hand. "Now I have you, my gorgeous, glorious mate. Broken and perfect, ready to feed me. All it will take is a few minutes and a teensy-tiny spell."

She released him and turned away, waving a hand to make the torches on the walls burn brighter. He was just a power source to her. Arthur was right. Matthew had ignored his power and now he was paying the price. His only recourse was...was...trying to get to the power first. Yes. Somehow, he'd done just that, outside, fighting the wendigos-if that hadn't been a panic-induced dream.

It was so hard to think. Matthew gritted his teeth and focused, growing still, feeling the dawning of a idea in his mind.

Matthew could take this power for himself because...because...Matthew really was Merlin...the sorcerer who didn't die...who had lived for thousands of years, forgotten and abandoned by everyone he'd ever known. He didn't want it; he had tried to fight it, but it was still true.

Matthew really was Merlin.

Matthew wailed as the pain of it came crashing into him-the pain of fifteen hundred years of living on and on and waiting and waiting and waiting, the absolute agony of being Merlin without Arthur, who had gone on without him, who had forgotten him like everyone else or he would have returned by now-

"Are you listening to me?" the voice of the lady hissed. "Get him up."

Merlin was summarily snatched from the floor and held by two wendigos. The hot jolt of pain shocked him back into a distant awareness. He was here, in a cave, facing a gray witch served by a pack of wendigos who could apparently understand her. Shocking how intelligent they were, after all that howling and thumping and pulling. Now that he thought about it, he was actually quite annoyed.

"This next part of the ritual needs blood. I know, so old school, but necessary. We'll take a little bit of yours and a little bit of mine." She was tall and yet still humped over, her gown and skin somehow all the same-wrinkled and gray and aged. Merlin watched her slice his arm, surprised to realize that his shirt had been removed at some point, which he did not like at all. Blood welled up immediately, and a pittance of pain followed after.

"What can you possibly think you're doing?" he said quietly.

She laughed at him, her wrinkled lips pulled wide, and stuck out her black tongue to lick at his blood. The smear of red on her face was obscene and her eyes, lit gold, were narrowed in hate. She moved closer and looked up into his eyes. "Poor boy, so young, so inexperienced. Why didn't someone protect you from me? They should have never sent you here, where I could suck on your magic like a lollipop. Yum." She leaned forward and nuzzled his chest and he shuddered.

Her closeness and the noisome foulness of her magic grated against him until the heat in his chest flared. _Oh, right._ Magic in its purest sense was flooding him. He almost laughed to think that he had been denying it, hiding it, wishing it all away.

_Well. No more of that, then._

With a thought, Merlin tossed the wendigos away. Swaying, he used magic to heal several somethings that were bothering him and stood straighter. He'd definitely gotten better at that over the centuries.

A sudden cacophony of wings and shrieks invaded the cave. Merlin looked up to see a cloud of giant bats diving down from their perches above. They swooped down into the cavern, their wings beating, throwing light and shadows across the rocky walls.

All it took was a thought and a golden glare from Merlin and they began tearing each other to shreds, tumbling to the ground below. When not one of them was left to attack him, Merlin turned to narrow his eyes at the witch. She was gathering her puny power, almost all of which had been stolen from him over the years.

There was a shout from the side, and then suddenly a vision of Arthur appeared, bursting into the scene and wielding his sword on Merlin's behalf. He sliced through one wendigo and faced off against two others, trying to get to Merlin's side. "Are you all right?" he yelled.

Merlin frowned. Why was his mind constantly doing this to him? Yes, that is exactly what Arthur would do if he were here, but he wasn't here to be so sweetly and unnecessarily heroic.

Merlin tilted his head and simply looked at the creatures and they stopped, confused. Their nature had been distorted by magic, and Merlin peered into them until he found their genesis and simply... nudged it. They shrunk to skin on bones, dissolved to skeletons, and then collapsed to the ground, lifeless. Hardly a challenge.

Arthur blinked and turned to look at Merlin. "Behind you!"

Merlin played along with his subconscious-generated vision and turned to see the witch poised with one hand in the air, syllables of destruction in her mouth.

"Inexperienced? Really?" With a swipe of one hand, Merlin caught her spell and held it before him. Her wrinkled face went slack. "Is this how you hoped to defeat me? This tiny, little spell?" His mouth twisted in a smirk. "It's been a long time since anyone has been that foolish. How dare you," he continued in a darker tone, emotion bleeding through. "How dare you try to use my own magic against me! You will not survive this."

He released her spell as though it were nothing and lifted his other hand. With cold malevolence, he re-established the connection she had made to him and infused her whole being with the power she had so desperately craved.

"Is _this_ what you wanted? Pure, raw power?"

The gray witch opened her mouth in a silent scream, her head thrown back, her entire being taut with tension as she strove to hold that which she was not built to receive. No one was, except for him. It was his burden, his blessing, his particular brand of torture. No one could share it; it was his alone.

"Well. You've come to the right place." Merlin sent another stab of power, then another and another. It was endless, truly.

A soft smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he watched her begin to burn from the inside-out. Tilting his head, he enjoyed the feeling of rightness as her life began to gutter like a candle in the wind.

* * *

The gray witch dissolved with a puff of air and a flash that took all the torch light and left behind echoing reverberations. Arthur stayed still as it quieted, crouched, sword in hand, holding his breath. Then there was the slightest sound of movement, and Merlin spoke.

_"Not with a bang, but a whimper,"_ he whispered, his voice filled with a dark satisfaction that Arthur couldn't begin to fathom. What had his friend become? He watched as Merlin conjured a small ball of light to look out over the destruction. There were bones and bloodied, eviscerated bat bodies strewn all over the cave floor. After a moment, Merlin laughed and the sound chilled Arthur's blood.

"I know exactly what you're thinking, Arthur," Merlin said in a chiding tone as he turned away, his voice echoing in the cave walls. "You're thinking that I've become a monster."

Arthur stood and then paused, completely confused. Merlin wasn't looking at him. Did he know Arthur was there?

"I was thinking more along the lines of a deranged madman, but yes, that was the basic thrust of my thoughts," Merlin answered himself in a passable imitation of Arthur's voice.

Merlin snorted and answered in his own voice. "I'm only laughing because I see no human bodies here. This is death on a small scale, Arthur, nothing like what we've seen in the past. Nothing like the fields of death and destruction...in...in-" and he choked off, smothering his sobs in the crook of his elbow.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak and found he couldn't. Merlin was as deeply damaged as Gwaine had led him to believe. The look on his face as he had destroyed the witch had been...well, if not evil, then at least not good. And not very much as he used to be.

Arthur quietly cleaned his sword and slid it back into its scabbard, sure that Merlin was too deep in his own misery to hear him now. After a moment of gathering himself, Arthur stepped closer and cleared his throat.

Merlin sniffed and wiped his tears but stayed where he was, turned away from Arthur.

"Merlin?"

His hand flailed in the air by his ear as if Arthur's voice were nothing a buzzing fly. "Go away," he whispered.

Arthur stepped closer. _"Merlin?"_

Merlin jerked but he didn't turn around, as if he were afraid to. When his voice came, it was broken, tentative. _"Arthur?"_

"I'm here, Merlin. I've returned. Do you remember?"

Merlin shook his head, still not turning around. "No. I remember you not being here, over and over and over and over again, that's what I remember." He pressed a hand to his ear. "Times like this, when I hear you and see you and I could swear it's all over I just have to remember it's not. It's just a trick of my mind, my masochistic mind that won't let the past go even after I've tried killing it over and over and over and over again. " His voice had taken on a sing-song quality that unnerved Arthur yet again. Merlin lowered his hand and started to walk away wearily.

"Merlin, turn around," Arthur commanded.

Merlin froze again, his shoulders hunched and his breathing irregular. "But you're not here," he whispered. "It's a trick and I can't_-no_, or I'll have to kill myself again and I don't want-"

_"Merlin!_" Arthur said and finally strode forward and forcibly turned his friend around, huffing out a breath when Merlin stubbornly shut his eyes. "Open your eyes, Merlin."

"I've just gotten my mind back, you hellish apparition-"

_"Open your eyes."_

"No, not when it's only going to end up damning me back to-"

"Merlin, open your eyes or I'll-I'll post that video Gwaine took of you sleepwalking on Youtube."

Merlin tilted his head to the side and paused. "That's a new threat."

Arthur sighed. "I came back from the dead, saved your life multiple times and still, you won't even look at me?"

A tear slid out from under Merlin's eyelids and his lips trembled. "Do you promise not to disappear?"

"I promise."

A perfect sphere of blue light appeared beside them, but still, Merlin hesitated. "Truly?"

Arthur gripped Merlin's arms. "Trust me. Please?"

Merlin nodded. When the blue of his eyes appeared, Arthur felt his own eyes moisten and then Merlin's hands were on his face and awe was choking out the despair in his eyes.

"Arthur?" he breathed.

"It's me, Merlin. I'm back."

* * *

Merlin was floating-was he even still alive? Had he somehow died in the cave, or fallen asleep? But this was so much better than a dream, better than any dream he'd ever had. He dashed away his tears so he could see Arthur's face better-Arthur's actual face. He was here. Arthur had returned!

"It's you," he whispered, "it's really you." He put his shaking hands to Arthur's smiling face again, wondering at the tears he saw in those eyes, revelling in the fondness there, laughing at the joy he saw bubbling up in the king's grin.

"I should have known," Merlin babbled, "I should have felt it." Merlin kept blinking, trying to get the tears out of the way, but they kept falling, as if they were anxious to see the Once and Future King, too. "Why didn't I feel it?" His whole body felt anxious, hopped up and full of energy. "The power came so easily, so ready, when it _hasn't_ since...since you died, Arthur. Arthur?" he had to ask again, searching the man's face.

"Yes, Merlin. I've been here for days, just waiting for you to remember. Idiot."

With a shout of joy, he released his hold on Arthur's face and threw his arms around his friend, laughing and sobbing at the same time, emotions rushing and tumbling in him until he didn't know if he was miserable or joyful or some devastating mix of the two.

"It's all right, Merlin," Arthur kept saying, somehow knowing it was what Merlin needed and not despising him for that weakness. He was solid in his arms, real-smelling, just as strong and kingly as ever, only without all that armor. But they had never held each other like this before. Merlin pulled back, thinking he ought to feel awkward, but knowing that he didn't and really couldn't anyway.

And then with a snap, his memory returned, of those awful, final days in Arthur's last life, when Merlin had finally revealed his magic and was completely inadequate in every way, had _failed_ and the king was suddenly dying in his arms.

"I couldn't save you," Merlin gasped. "Arthur, I'm so sorry," he babbled, swiping away more stupid tears because he needed to _see._

Arthur put his hands on Merlin's shoulders. "I know, Merlin. I knew you would feel that way, but you have to listen to me: you weren't meant to save me, not that time. I'm sorry I didn't return sooner to tell you that."

Merlin shook his head. "No, this was my penance." His face crumpled and he looked away. "But you asked me not to change, Arthur, and I did. It got so hard and I..."

"No," Arthur said softly, "Merlin, look at me. I asked you to always be _you._ Are you still you?"

"Erm...yeah, now, but, erm," Merlin sniffled, suddenly self-conscious. "I'm a bloody mess?"

"That's okay. Anyone would be. But I have good news. You've earned your rest, Merlin, many times over. It's time to go home."

"Home?" Merlin asked, his heart beating faster.

"There are quite a few people there who have been waiting for you."

"Avalon," Merlin whispered reverently, "I didn't think I'd...I'd ever get there..." Merlin trailed off and started laughing.

Arthur watched him with concern and pulled him back into his arms as the mirth changed to tears again, the tears of the broken and hopeless whose most desperate prayers have been answered in one, ecstatic moment of bliss.


	11. Epilogue

**subject: Verona Hyde, age 48**

**date: December 21**

**time: 10:46 a.m.**

_-resume taped interview-_

"I think about him every day. I miss him. Jim and I both do. But I don't think Matthew's far away.

"He had a dream once, a happy dream, and told me about it the last time we talked. Twice, I've had the same dream myself, of Matthew waking in a beautiful, peaceful place filled with white mist under a beautiful, blue sky. Arthur is there waiting on him, calling him Merlin and talking him out of his long sleep. There's so much joy in the two of them being together again that it's almost too much to take.

"I guess that sounds like a dream of heaven than anyone might have. But it's the next part that makes me think it's true.

"After a time, he notices the long line of people behind Arthur, stretching down into the road, across a bridge and on into what looks like a town. They're waiting for him, which makes Matthew a bit nervous, and he asks Arthur-I remember this part very clearly-'What am I supposed to do for them?'

"And Arthur says, 'Nothing. Those are the people you helped during your lifetime. They want to bless _you_, to repay you for the things you've done. You see, Merlin? None of it was in vain.' Arthur looked so proud. He put his hand on Merlin's shoulder and said, ' Thank you for taking care of my people.'

"Isn't that beautiful?"

_*voice mumbles in background*_

"The butterflies? Yes, that was Matthew. They're an entirely new species, you know-such a deep, beautiful blue. They flew out of the cave a few hours after Arthur went in and they migrated to our house, to the place where Matthew grew up.

"Well. I knew then. He sent them, you see? They were a sign that after everything, after all he'd been through, he was fine. That was his way of saying goodbye."

_*sniffling*_

"I will never forget him.

"I will always feel beyond blessed that he was a part of my life.

"And one day, I will stand in that line myself."

_-end taped interview-_


End file.
